


Silk Sheets, Sharp Teeth, and Sweet Relief

by oikaiwas (unfinishedpages)



Series: That Kind of Love [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dirty Talk, M/M, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Romance, Slow Burn-ish, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedpages/pseuds/oikaiwas
Summary: What little small talk in a company dinner spirals to Tsukishima becoming a constant guest in a ritzy penthouse in Minato-Ku.Alternatively, the story of how Kuroo found himself charmed by a pretty blond who had some choice comments about his hair upon their first meeting.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: That Kind of Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056776
Comments: 13
Kudos: 219
Collections: (seijoh_amour), Haikyuu NSFW Week 2020





	Silk Sheets, Sharp Teeth, and Sweet Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HQ NSFW Week 2020: 
> 
> Day 1 Tiers - Overstimulation | Gripping | “You look so good like this.”
> 
> Some clarification notes are at the end since they are a tad spoilery to the main plot. Of course, heed the tags. If some things aren't your cup of tea, you're welcome to just click back and find one that does.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy, I guess?

Tsukishima could feel his chest heave with deep, almost stuttered breaths, the own pulse booming in his ears as the rough grip on his hips morphs into something gentler, calloused fingertips running up his thighs almost cautiously as a pair of soft, soft lips make their trail of slow, sticky sweet kisses up the length of his neck to his lips, swallowing a whine from his own. 

The keen that rips itself from his throat at the teasing nip at his kiss-swollen lower lip is enough to make his entire body flush with embarrassment, head-spinning against the over six hundred thread count silk sheets he’s probably ripped holes into with his nails in the midst of his eventful evening, but the slow chuckle from the person above somehow acts as a balm for his fried nerves.

“That’ll probably bruise, I’m sorry.” The person mumbles against the tender skin on his hip and thighs, running his tongue on the jut of Tsukishima’s hips. The room is quiet, save for the mingling of the shortness of their breaths, his eyes blinking slowly in the dim lights of the room, the lines of tension fizzling from under his skin and his legs falling open against the sheets. 

Tsukishima slowly comes to himself enough to sass him, rasping out a response that makes the other laugh, rough and just as breathless as Tsukishima is. “No, you’re not.”

A sharp, teasing nip over the bruising skin of his hips makes Tsukishima shiver and gasp, too boneless and sated to muffle his reactions. “No, I’m not. You look so good like this.”

“You say that just because it’s your handywork.” Tsukishima replies, running his fingers through the other’s wild tufts of hair and scratching at the skin of his nape. 

“What can I say? You said it yourself, I was _so good_ earlier. Let me admire the aftermath of my performance, though,” The mouth on his skin moves lower, but not before another reply makes Tsukishima flush darker than he already is, “I don’t think I did so well when you’re already sassing me back so quickly.”

Tsukishima smirks down at the other over the length of his nose, dishing out a challenge that in hindsight, he would regret in just a few minutes. “Guess you didn’t fuck me hard enough to fuck me stupid.”

The other man smirks back at him, rising to Tsukishima’s provocation just as fast. “What makes you think I’m done with you?”

Tsukishima’s thighs immediately start to shake when a rough thumb sneaks itself between his legs, stroking where he’s throbbing and sensitive, a sharp jolt of a delectable mix of pain and pleasure making its way up his spine before it's gone again. “Oh, _fuck_.” He mewls, head digging into the pillows and fingers tugging hard against dark hair. 

It’s too much, and too little at the same time, as if Tsukishima didn’t spend the better half of this evening moaning a cocktail of profanity and butchered syllables of someone’s name into the air like a prayer. 

Everything feels so amplified as he almost shivers out of his own skin, feeling the stickiness of drying lubricant and release between his legs, the soreness of his muscles and the soft, heated, and rousing kisses pressed onto blooming hickeys and teeth marks dotted along the golden skin on the inside of his thighs. 

His spent cock twitches against his thigh, eager for more, but Tsukishima genuinely feels the painful twinge of _too much_ in his core when a thick finger slips gently into him, rushing to push at a solid, naked shoulder as he shakily rises on his elbows. “W-wait, sensitive,” He rasps out, pushing the older man’s fringe out of his face as he rests his fingers on their nape, lungs rattling inside his ribs with the intensity of his breathing.

“Later.” Tsukishima manages to say before he drops back to the pillows, in an attempt to steady his breathing while swallowing his admittance of defeat against the earlier provocation. 

Another laugh, another kiss is pressed onto his right hip, before the arms anchoring his thighs open slowly slip away. “Alright.” Tsukishima hears his reply before he hears the telltale sound of ripping plastic, but nothing prepares him for the cold wipe gliding down his overheated skin, making him curl into himself with a sharp hiss from clenched teeth. 

“Should’ve warned you, sorry, Kei.” Comes the soft apology—a slow drip of thick honey, warm and overwhelmingly sweet—in a kiss pressed onto his knee, before wiping his belly and inner thighs clean.

“Was I too rough tonight?” Tsukishima looks at the source of the voice, where he’s standing at the foot of the bed, somewhat decent in a pair of pyjama pants. He offers Tsukishima a glass of water to soothe his throat, and almost preens at the fingers carding through his sweaty hair as he sips at the water gingerly. 

The afterglow has dulled both their sharp tongues into something less lethal, and as much as Tsukishima appreciates someone who can go toe to toe with his barb and edges, he likes sinking into the affection and softness a few mind-shattering orgasms only this person can give to him. 

“No, I liked it,” He replies, handing the glass back and making sure to make his touch linger on the other’s skin. “Didn’t expect you to be so pent up, you miss me that much?” He murmurs as he stares at the other through the rim of his glasses, smiling small at the amused quirk of the other man’s eyebrows. 

“Didn’t think you were a terrible listener, Moonshine, but then again, nobody can hear themselves think when you’re moaning that _loud_ for me,” Tsukishima flushes at the unabashed filth he’d invited into the room once more, but he leans into the hand cupping his cheek to receive a softer kiss on his temple. “But yes, I did miss you. Some business trips are murder, and you were busy too. I didn’t want to be a distraction.”

Tsukishima’s breathing has calmed down now, already making a move to grab his pyjama top from the floor and somehow, his underwear, off the headboard and slipping them on. “You definitely made the three months of waiting worthwhile, Kuroo-san.” 

Kuroo lets out an amused burst of air from his nose, thumbing the cartilage of Tsukishima’s ear. “You and I certainly earned it, haven’t we?” He grins, smoothing the golden curls from his forehead. “Want me to carry you to the bathroom?”

Tsukishima frowns, shaking his head. “No, I can manage twenty steps to the shower, Kuroo-san.”

“Alright, bathroom’s all yours. I’ll order us something to eat.” Kuroo turns around to step out of the bedroom, phone already in hand. 

—

After a thorough shower and the long routine slathering himself in the expensive toiletries Kuroo keeps for him in a separate drawer in his bathroom, Tsukishima finds himself sitting on the opposite side of the couch, long legs stretched over Kuroo’s lap as they finish the bag of fries from their midnight snacking, balanced precariously on the blonde’s bare shins, and his glass of wine is somewhere on Kuroo’s numerous side tables nestled beside the other chairs.

They’re watching a western show—one of Kuroo’s less guilty pleasures outside the rigid schedules of his day job—that Tsukishima barely understands the plot of, much less the quick American accents of the cast. It’s quite evident though that Kuroo enjoys it when Tsukishima sees him chuckling under his breath at the detective making his criminal line up sing an old song from the ’90s. 

The paper bag of fries on his soon becomes empty, and Kuroo’s chiding remarks about Tsukishima’s oily fingers on his couch fall on deaf ears as they’re drowned out by the younger’s rare giggling brought about the thousand-dollar bottle of wine Kuroo saves for him at times like these. 

Tsukishima makes the conscious decision to move the oily bag off his legs and onto the table, knocking the rest of his liquid courage back before manoeuvring the older man to sit back on the couch and promptly straddling him, his better thinking dulled by the alcohol. 

Kuroo watches him stretch his long legs over his body, running his hands on the smooth skin of Tsukishima’s thighs as he watches him get into place with barely concealed hunger shining in the amber of his eyes. 

“Ready for more?” Kuroo asks, a large hand resting itself on the swell of Tsukishima’s ass, trailing up and down on his back before fingers curl lightly into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” Tsukishima breathes out, leaning his head down to meet Kuroo halfway for an open-mouthed kiss, tongues curling with each other filthily in the best way. “Here, Kei? With all these windows?” Kuroo’s voice has now dropped, and the way he says Tsukishima’s name in that rough rasp makes him squirm in his lap. 

Tsukishima’s eyes flicker towards the wide expanse of floor to ceiling windows in Kuroo’s stupidly expensive penthouse apartment in Minato-Ku, staring at the skyline from the 27th floor. 

Nobody could probably see into his windows too clearly, and the nearest highrise is a good kilometre or two away, but the idea of someone seeing through the window, having no other explanation of what they were obviously doing in the open sends such a potent thrill down Tsukishima’s spine it makes him shiver. 

The hand resting on his thighs migrates up to his waist and ass, and the show playing on TV seems to be the last item on Kuroo’s list of priorities, pushing his hands up Tsukishima’s sleep shirt, thumbing at the peaked nubs on his chest. 

“Yes,” The younger moans out, throwing his head back and slowly rolling his hips, “Right here. I know you have lube tucked in the cushions somewhere.” 

True enough, Kuroo laughs and digs his fingers into the cushions directly behind him to reveal a travel-sized bottle of lube in his hand, grinning up at Tsukishima. “No condoms though, baby, gonna take me bare? Not caring if someone sees? Hmm?” Kuroo kisses him again, humming against his lips, the hand up in Tsukishima’s shirt relentless with their motions on his nipples. 

Tsukishima knows Kuroo’s excessive amount of dirty talk was also a way to double-check his boundaries without jolting them out of the mood too much, and even though the sheer sin pouring out of the older man’s mouth is enough to make a decent person gawk, Tsukishima can’t help but nod, almost too eager, to let Kuroo have his complete consent. 

Sex with Kuroo, for a lack of better word, was mind-blowing. It never got boring, and Kuroo was always so generous with everything that Tsukishima would be left breathless and satisfied, whether it be soft and slow, or hard and fast. 

Kuroo’s mouth could have him flushed and speaking in tongues in a matter of minutes, with all the filth he was capable of whispering into Tsukishima’s skin. And Kuroo never seemed to forget that, with the way he fans unabashed desire in Tsukishima with a mere gaze.

“You want me to come inside you, Kei? Feel it drip out of you when I’m done?” The slow, teasing touches underneath his clothes, coupled with the _vivid_ imagery in Kuroo’s voice is enough to warm Tsukishima's entire body and the entire room. “You know I won’t stop when you’ve come, that I’ll keep fucking you until you’re crying because it’s too much?”

Kuroo plants a kiss on the shell of his ear when Tsukishima’s breath stutters, thumbs rubbing hypnotising circles on his heated skin before his hands trail up his back to trace the line of his spine up and down with his nails. The chasteness of his kiss belies what he promises to do to Tsukishima, should he ask for it. “Is that what you want?”

"I," Tsukishima breathes, eyes fluttering shut and jaw slacking at the gentle flicks to his nipple, cock already half hard in his boxers. "I want it." He grits out, hands flying up to Kuroo’s shoulders and hips already rutting against the older man's belly. 

Kuroo’s doesn't even seem fazed in the slightest, amber eyes boring into Tsukishima, thumb still measured in its ministrations. Though the impatient press of Kuroo’s lips on his collarbone and arousal pressing against his ass may prove otherwise. “Tell me what you want, Kei."

Tsukishima takes a minute to answer his question, trying to frown down at Kuroo through the haze of his blatant arousal, but Kuroo grips his waist hard enough to tether him back to reality, that he is in control now. "I want that, what you told me." The younger whispers, but Kuroo clicks his tongue. 

“Moonshine,” Kuroo starts, the normally sickeningly sweet nickname now tinged with promised debauchery, “You know you have to tell me _exactly_ what you want.” He continues, hands already busy with unbuttoning Tsukishima’s pyjama top and sliding it off his shoulders. 

Tsukishima seems to deliberate his options, but Kuroo’s pressing arousal against his ass and the need building up in the pit of his belly seems to supersede the shame in his chest. Kuroo’s hands settle on his waist, waiting for his response while watching his reactions to make sure that both of them were still in it. 

He heaves a shaky breath, eyes downcast before he utters the words quietly, hoping it will be enough for Kuroo to do anything. “I want it bare, Tetsu, wanna feel you come in me,” Tsukishima’s fingers curl into the threadbare t-shirt Kuroo’s wearing, biting at his lip and seemingly at war with himself and his own desire when he peaks up at the older man through his lashes. “I want you to make me cry.” 

Tsukishima has barely even finished speaking when Kuroo presses their lips together, licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue hard enough to wrench a whine from his throat, slick fingers slipping underneath his underwear to rub where he’s wanted them five minutes ago. "Anything for you, Kei.” 

Somehow, after the events that transpired in Kuroo’s living room, they ended up back in the older man’s bedroom. The space beside him hasn’t been vacant for too long, as he vaguely registers the low screech of clothing hangers being pushed around on a rack. 

Tsukishima spares a look at the digital clock on Kuroo’s side of the bed, grunting in irritation at having woken up this early. He hears Kuroo’s laugh on the other side of the room before a kiss is pressed onto the bare skin of his shoulder peeking above the sheets. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“See you.” He mumbles, pulling the thick blanket over his head and turning his back away from the sunlight seeping in through the drapes. Sleep comes easy, and very much welcome with Tsukishima’s exhaustion. 

Tsukishima wakes up a couple of hours later, body _very_ sore but _incredibly_ sated as he blinks the sleep from his eyes before he manoeuvres himself off the bed and into the kitchen for something to eat. He spots a yellow post-it on the microwave door, skimming through Kuroo’s familiar script. 

_Didn’t want to wake you before I left. The pantry is at your disposal, but you’re free to order in if you’d like something else._

- _k_

He manages to summon the motor skills to make some toast, nibbling on it thoughtfully as he scrolls through his social media and answering a few well mannered but obviously snooping texts from Akaashi. Tsukishima also makes the mistake of attempting to hike his thigh onto the barstool, which makes him hiss at the twinge from his sore thighs, and instead of settling in the _other_ couch in the living room.

Maybe he should throw those cushion covers in the wash, Tsukishima thinks as he stares at where he last remembered being before he was pressed into the mattress again, muffling his sobs on a pillow as Kuroo fucked him on his knees for the second time last night, before he looks down at the stare Kuroo left him in. 

Kuroo really did a number on him last night, didn’t he? Tsukishima mulls over as he lifts his leg, inspecting the skin of his thighs below the hem of his loaned pair of boxers, pressing a finger against darkening hickeys and teeth marks in his inner thighs, before hissing at the dull ache. 

Tsukishima thought it would be appropriate to forward his concern to the guilty party, snapping a picture of his bare thighs hooked onto the back of the seat, even letting a cheeky sliver of pale skin peek above the band of his underwear, the golden stitching of the brand bright in the sun.

_You had fun last night._

_[Image Attached]_

****

_So did you._

Kuroo sends him an image of his chin and neck, dress shirt unbuttoned down to his collarbones and a slender finger tugging the collar of his turtleneck down. Tsukishima zooms into the bruised splotch of skin on the base Kuroo’s neck, face burning when he remembers biting down on it in a valiant attempt to muffle his moans last night. 

_You got sharp teeth, Tsukki._

_Sharper nails though._

Another picture comes in, and Tsukishima’s face burns even more. It's a picture of Kuroo’s bare, muscular back taken on the mirror of his en-suite bathroom, more imprints of his teeth on the slope of his neck, and his shoulder blades and lower back lined with scratches, the tanned skin around them in varying shades of red, and Tsukishima can’t help the pride that bubbles deep in his chest knowing that he’s the _one and only_ source of all those marks. 

_Asking for an apology?_

_Did I ask for one?_

Kuroo’s replies are quick and in his typical fashion, _infuriating_ , as if he isn’t at his own nine to five and preoccupied with work.

_No._

_Did you take that this morning planning to show it to me?_

_I took a picture of it as a keepsake._

_A keepsake?_

_A keepsake for when I’m missing you, and want to be reminded of what you can do to me._

_Nothing special._

Tsukishima’s belly warms with an unwelcome heat, choosing to deflect with his signature sarcasm.

_Ah_

_So a wankbank deposit then?_

_And he’s back._

_I like feeling like I’m yours._

_You are._

_Mine, that is._

_Damn_

_You sure know how to flatter than a guy, Moonshine._

_I have to go in a bit, Daichi and I have a meeting at 11._

_Remember to eat a lot, okay?_

_Alright Kuroo-san._

_I’m eating right now._

_Let me guess?_

_One (1) slice of toast?_

_Oh no_

_You’ve caught me_

His phone pings with another notification from Kuroo, a string of laughing emojis, followed with a quick goodbye.

_Wait the client’s here early._

_Btw, the soothing cream is in the drawer below the sink._

_Wanted to put it on for you, but you were still asleep, and you hate how cold it is._

_Later, baby._

Tsukishima nibbles on his brunch, replying with a thumbs-up emoji to Kuroo before padding back to the kitchen to wash his plates, mind floating away. 

He knew from experience that Kuroo could be an incredibly gentle lover, lips soft against Tsukishima’s in the heated haze of slow, unrushed sex, hips flush with his for what felt like hours until he had been left dizzy with want, unravelled and undone at the seams underneath Kuroo.

Slow, firm thrusts between his thighs, where their lips almost never parted save for a rushed breath, or to press against an unloved patch of skin of Tsukishima’s neck and chest, gasping into each other’s mouths as they reached the apex of their pleasure. 

Where having Tsukishima in his arms didn’t seem to suffice for Kuroo, his hands never seeming to get enough of touching his skin, stroking wherever be could, whispering sweet nothings into Tsukishima’s ear while the younger clung to him, mile-long legs wrapped securely around his trim waist for purchase.

There are also nights where Tsukishima is made aware of the sheer strength Kuroo keeps hidden in the coil of muscles on his body and the cruelty of his tongue. 

Nights where Kuroo is incredibly rough, where he takes and takes and _takes_ until Tsukishima’s eyes are rolling back into his skull and thighs spread obscenely wide with Kuroo’s bruising grip behind his knees, crying as he comes and gripping the covers beside his head helplessly while he’s fucked deeply into the bed. 

Nights where Tsukishima sobs around the iron tight grip of Kuroo’s hand around his jaw when he takes him from behind, whining at the absolute filth Kuroo whispers in his ears, punctuated with deep grunts that make him burn with embarrassment when he recalls them out of the blue, especially in class. 

Tsukishima lets him do what he wants every time those nights come about.

He encourages it even, screaming himself hoarse as Kuroo thrusts into him hard enough to dent the drywall above the bed, punching the air out of his lungs and making his thighs quiver as Tsukishima eggs him on, and taunting him through the oversensitivity, indulging himself on those rare indulgences with Kuroo when he makes him come again and again until he’s wrung dry.

After all, he enjoys both sides of sleeping with Kuroo—enjoys the juxtaposition of his demeanour in bed. Kuroo is nothing but sweet, teasing, yet still courteous with him outside their coital activities and Tsukishima has been spoiled too long, all too aware of the fact that Kuroo would never refuse him within reason. 

Now, Tsukishima hasn’t always lived a life of waking up to an entire apartment all to himself or sipping wine more expensive than a month of rent in his shitty apartment. 

Nor has he made a habit of being fucked stupid for the second time in an evening, on a rug that probably cost as much as an entire semester in the university he attended.

He wasn’t fed with a silver spoon in his mouth in his adolescent years.

He certainly wasn’t born in the lap of luxury, but these days, he spends his days bouncing on someone else’s lap, legs splayed open and back arched in chase of release in a glass-walled apartment, all in exchange for a little bit of luxury. 

In other words—quiet, yet sharped tongued History Major, Tsukishima Kei was a Sugar Baby, and the man who had chastised him over his sharp teeth and nails was his Sugar Daddy, Kuroo Tetsurou.

Their relationship had transpired beyond monetary gifts in exchange of providing sexual favours, after all, they had dated a short while to get to know each other due to Tsukishima’s strict selectivity in people before they had agreed on their new setup, that has now lasted since his junior year in university.

While he spends his free time in Tokyo spoiling Tsukishima both inside and outside his luxury apartment in Takanawa, Kuroo maintains his sky-high credit limit and his title as one of every major bank in the country's most sought after client by heading one of the top architectural firms in the country as a senior partner of DKT & Associates. 

Kuroo often jokes that he mostly argues with development engineers over large scale projects at work, but Tsukishima knows most architects don’t collaborate with Emirati sheikhs in designing one of the most famous skylines in the world.

His exposure to this sort of lifestyle had been his closest friend in college, Akaashi, purely by accident. Akaashi had been a Literature sophomore who he got along like a house on fire in his freshman year after Akaashi had graciously let him on the floor of his dorm room when Tsukishima’s old roommate had his girlfriend over. 

By the next year, they had started living together. 

Akaashi, with his quiet and solemn demeanour, had come home to their shared apartment with a dazed look on his pretty face, curls even more tousled than usual, blinking up at Tsukishima when they had bumped into each other in the kitchen. 

With the few inches he had over Akaashi, he was able to see the hickeys around his collarbones and neck over the neckline of his jumper. “Did you have a good night, Akaashi-san?”

“Ah, yes,” Akaashi blinks, nodding at Tsukishima as they wait for the kettle to finish boiling. “I did.”

Not wanting to pry, Tsukishima didn’t ask for details until Akaashi had blurted it out himself, staring pointedly into his cup of black coffee on the counter and flushing furiously when he admitted it to Tsukishima over breakfast. 

“The man I’m seeing wants to be my benefactor.”

Tsukishima didn’t even manage to get a word in edgewise as Akaashi immediately started to explain the situation. “We were really just dating at first, then we had a date but I was too stressed to enjoy it because my paycheck was late from my internship, and we had rent due—he just offered to help and I accepted.” Akaashi rambles out, heaving a breath before continuing.

“When I got my paycheck I wanted to pay him back for it, but he refused and started even getting me expensive gifts.” Akaashi started picking at his fingers, his index finger picking at the patch of dry skin around his thumb. “Recently, he’s offered to pay off my student loans.”

Choosing his own words carefully, Tsukishima finally got to speak when Akaashi paused to catch his breath. “Are you sure that’s safe, Akaashi-san?”

“This is Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replied, sliding his phone across the table to show Tsukishima, still unable to look him in the eye. “He’s an Architect, and he’s twenty-eight.” Tsukishima stared down on Akaashi’s newer, shinier phone, where a photo of a good-looking man in a suit in a city in Europe is on the screen, his hair silver streaked with black, cheek dimpling as he grins at the camera. “We’ve been seeing each other for seven months.” 

“Him being an Architect you doesn’t make him any less capable of murder.” Tsukishima points out, quietly sipping at his tea before pushing the phone back at Akaashi. Akaashi, thankfully, laughed at the comment instead of taking offence. 

“Bokuto-san is sweet,” The dark-haired male says, stirring at his coffee absentmindedly with an absolutely _love drunk_ look on his face. “A little overwhelming with how affectionate he is, but he’s nice, caring.”

“Okay.” 

Tsukishima’s silence on the matter makes Akaashi squirm in his seat, uncertainty swimming in the crystal blue of his eyes. “Do you find it weird, that he’s older than I am?”

“No, ” Tsukishima shakes his head. “Whatever business you have in the bedroom is your own, Akaashi-san.” Upon realising how _aloof_ and _uncaring_ his words were, he reaches for Akaashi’s hand to give it a brief pat. “I...trust your judgement, is what I’m trying to say. Just keep yourself safe.”

“Oh.” Akaashi murmurs, then he smiles at the younger man before holding his hand in both of his own. “Thank you, Kei.” 

Tsukishima returns the smile, albeit weakly. “Are you going to accept?”

“The offer?”

“Yes.”

Akaashi shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”

“You want to, though.”

“If I accept, I’d be debt-free on top of being with a good man, and he’s really good in bed. It just seems too good to be true, and I’m just waiting for the catch.” Akaashi buries his head into his hands, letting out a loud groan. "I'm just waiting for his fiancée or wife to scream at me like a soap opera, to be honest."

—

There was no catch because Bokuto Koutarou was the real deal. 

A diamond buried under dating site duds, and Akaashi had just struck gold, so to speak. Just an extremely affectionate _unmarried_ man, who was willing to spoil his younger boyfriend with any luxury he could ever wish for, and generous enough to pay each and every one of his expenses.

Tsukishima’s initial impression of Bokuto had been pieced through the internet and Akaashi’s limited stories about the man. That he was big, in multiple aspects, as it seems. 

Big bank accounts, big personality, bigger heart, and built like a brick wall—though Akaashi would argue that something else was bigger, much to Tsukishima’s chagrin. 

He just didn’t seem like a real person, until Tsukishima had the actual pleasure of meeting him. 

The unfamiliar brogues lined up in the genkan and the designer coat hanging in the closet should’ve been warning enough to him.

Tsukishima met Bokuto after a late night at his internship at the National Museum of Nature and Science in their tiny apartment two months later, and his overwhelmingly bright, friendly, and energetic presence is jarring in their kitchen between Akaashi’s quiet demeanour and Tsukishima’s abrasive personality. 

A vision in black and silver, dressed in an obviously expensive shirt and slacks, and his gold eyes shining as he smiles at Tsukishima. Bokuto is almost as tall as Tsukishima at a hundred and ninety centimetres, with a booming voice that was sure to get them a noise complaint from their elderly neighbours. 

Bokuto, as it turned out, was also a hugger, and was genuinely built strong enough to be able to lift Tsukishima off his feet without getting winded or grunting at his weight. “Oh! So you’re Tsukki, I’m Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi’s boyfriend.”

He was everything Tsukishima had anticipated he’d be, and more.

“Good to meet you Bokuto-san,” Tsukishima rasps out, patting his thick arms in an attempt to return the greeting. “I’m Tsukishima Kei, his friend and roommate.” He says when Bokuto finally lets go of him. 

Bokuto’s bright smile hadn't waned at all despite his frosty response, and the fond look in Akaashi’s eyes was entirely impossible to miss, so Tsukishima makes an effort not to be too mean. 

“Oh, Akaashi and I are just about to have dinner, do you want some?” Bokuto gestures to the bags of take out on their counter. He was helping Akaashi transfer into them actual plates, the servings being too much for just two people. “There’s also dessert if you already ate dinner, it’s strawberry shortcake, by the way. We got a big one, so there’d be a lot for everyone!”

Tsukishima immediately raises an eyebrow at Akaashi behind him, who merely smiles back at him. Akaashi had unknowingly taught Bokuto to get into Tsukishima’s good graces. Leave it to him to equip someone with the proper defences to let them off relatively unscathed.

“Sure, Bokuto-san. Thank you.”

“Great!”

Tsukishima is still nibbling at a piece of strawberry from dessert when Bokuto leaves, waving goodbye at the older man from his seat on the couch with a too-big slice of strawberry shortcake courtesy of Bokuto on the plate balanced on his thighs. 

After Akaashi had kissed Bokuto goodbye and closed the door behind him, Tsukishima had immediately given him the stink eye. “You cheated.” 

“I know Bokuto-san can be overwhelming, so I just warned him just in case,” Akaashi says, drying the dishes they had used for dinner, which Bokuto had insisted that he wash. _I promise I won’t break anything! “_ I wanted you two to get along, and he made the effort for both of us.” He admits when Tsukishima walks up to help him put the dishes away.

Bokuto tried, and Tsukishima thought to at least return the bare minimum. “He’s fine, nice too, I guess.” He comments while putting the larger bowls on the topmost shelf, which was more than Akaashi could ever ask for when it comes to Tsukishima’s social tolerance.

—

Tsukishima liked Bokuto enough to accept his invitation to a private company dinner along with Akaashi. He’s disarmingly charming to Tsukishima and the rest of his guests, sweet and courteous to Akaashi, and isn’t shy about his work hard, play hard lifestyle that he often shares with his best friend. 

He meets Kuroo Tetsurou in the same company dinner, catching his eye on the other side of the ballroom balcony an hour in, since the festivities are, for lack of a better word, starting to bore him. He's pretty sure he's falling asleep on his feet before Akaashi had dragged him out to the balcony for a bit of fresh air, without noticing the other person outside. 

Akaashi is quick to pull him close, whispering in his ear once he recognises the older man. “That’s Kuroo Tetsurou. He’s one of Bokuto-san’s partners, the T is DKT, if that wasn’t obvious.” He added cheekily, before waltzing towards Bokuto with a pretty smile on his face and closing the French doors behind him. 

Tsukishima groans, praying that he wouldn’t have to carry a drunk Akaashi out of a cab tonight, finding himself glaring a hole at the back of Akaashi’s curly head through the glass before a deep voice manages to whisk him back into reality. “Hi, Kuroo Tetsurou.” The man offers, voice low and smooth as he holds out his hand towards Tsukishima. “I don’t think I've had the pleasure.” 

Needless to say, Tsukishima’s mouth quirks at the corners at the sight of him up close. “That is some _hair_.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows fly into his hair before Tsukishima realises what he’s said, immediately tipping his head down into a bow as an apology, but Kuroo bursts out laughing, deep and breathy. “I get that a lot.” He says, running a hand through his fringe to push it away from his forehead.

“Was this a genuine style choice or…?” Tsukishima asks, sipping at his glass of wine as he eyes Kuroo up and down, the wave of mortification over that overzealous comment already receding. 

“It’s my natural bed head, believe it or not.” Kuroo grins, glittering amber eyes as he returns Tsukishima’s scrutinous stare over his glass of whisky. “This is the tamed version, I promise. So, are the sharp remarks to people you don’t know a genuine choice too?” The older man jerks an eyebrow up at Tsukishima, matching the jab with his own provocation and the younger doesn’t miss it.

From the wild tufts of dark hair, to shoulders of his bespoke suit and the tips of his Italian leather shoes, something about Kuroo—something between his ability to go toe to toe with him, the rakish looks, the playful eyes, the sharp jut of his jaw, or the long line of body—Tsukishima doesn’t know, makes him almost want to lower his gaze and peer at him through his lashes, or chew him out just to see how much of Tsukishima he can handle. 

Tsukishima chooses to go with the latter. 

“It’s a gift, what can I say.” He says cooly, referring to his abrasiveness and staring at Kuroo over the rim of his glasses. 

Kuroo, to his surprise, grins. “Too bad I can’t return it in full, nothing bad to comment on about your looks, your tongue is another story though.” He replies, cocking his head to the side before offering a hand towards Tsukishima. “Didn’t exactly catch your name, Mr…?”

“Tsukishima Kei.” He takes Kuroo’s hand, not expecting the firm grip of his hand, and blinking in surprise. The action seems to amuse Kuroo though, as he smiled at the younger man even after the awkward exchange. Kuroo waves a hand in the air, seemingly batting away the tense air between them. 

“Pretty name too. Tsuki, like the moon, Shima, like the kanji for island, I’m assuming?” 

“Yes.”

“Kei as in?”

“Firefly.”

“Interesting.” Kuroo says, before his eyes whisk away from Tsukishima to the overlooking park and street lights of a nearby highway. “What are you doing outside? The event's just started." 

"I was just invited, and I’ve had enough of small talk," Tsukishima replies, setting his wine glass down onto the ledge, pressing his lips together when Kuroo looks back at him.

“You’re Akaashi’s friend?” 

“Yes, we’re roommates too,” Tsukishima answers blandly, searching for the black curly head of hair in the sea of black and navy suits and seeing him with Bokuto and a handful of other guests, laughing into each other.

Tsukishima’s gaze momentarily moves to look at Kuroo, who’s looking at his business partner wrapping an arm around his younger companion’s shoulders with an unreadable stare. “Don’t worry, what happens in Bokuto’s bedroom isn’t any of my concerns,” Kuroo comments, watching the exchange with him as he sipped at his glass of whisky. “Though I must admit, your friend is something special. Kou’s been seeing him for more than a year now.”

“Oh, really?”

“He’s mellowed out, somewhat. It’s nice to see someone balance his energy out without forcing him to change. Some exes had, anyway.” Kuroo remarks, Tsukishima not expecting the subtle compliment to Akaashi’s character. 

“Akaashi-san’s incredible to have around. I think Bokuto-san’s realised that too.” Tsukishima replies, smiling thinly around the rim of his glass. Perhaps, Kuroo isn’t aware of Bokuto and Akaashi’s relationship-slash-arrangement, and with the alcohol in his system, he’d rather keep his mouth shut than accidentally blurt something out again.

“From what Bokuto drones on and on about in the little free time we have, Akaashi is working in publications. What do you do, Tsukki?” 

Tsukishima grits his teeth at the nickname but stays mum about it, determined not to let Kuroo the sense of satisfaction over pissing him off. “Ah, I'm still in school for History, Kuroo-san.”

“Natural?”

“Archeology.”

“Impressive.”

“ _Heh,_ I guess _,”_ Tsukishima says, shrugging his shoulders and hearing Kuroo cackle beside him. “I can tell you’re getting bored of the small talk, but you can ask me anything, if you want.”

Tsukishima chooses to go with something more light, and first-meeting appropriate. “How long have you known Bokuto-san?” 

“Too long." He jokes, pulling a surprised burst of air that could be considered a laugh from Tsukishima. His lips slid into a smirk as he tossed another look at the social butterfly of his business partner chatting clients and employees in the ballroom. There’s a glimmer of fondness in the older man’s eyes, and Tsukishima finds himself just interested enough in the conversation. 

“I've known him ever since he decided that I was going to be his best friend in preschool, went to the same school until university, and now we share a corporate bank account with Daichi.” 

“Daichi, we met at university. By sophomore year we were all friends, and Bokuto and I were both drunk in his bathtub, crying about whatever sad children’s movie Bokuto chose to watch that night." Kuroo grins, and Tsukishima finds himself amused over the small anecdote of their closeness.

"That's Sawamura Daichi." He points to a man on the other side of the room, whispering into the ear of a man with silver hair and delicate features hanging on his arm. "By the way, be careful about those two. They look like any mother’s description of a perfect marriage,” Kuroo’s drawls, unfaced in baring his closest friends’ dirty laundry to someone he just met, loose-lipped with the liquor in his system. 

“But don’t be fooled by the looks or the charms. Daichi and Suga will eat you alive, _for fun._ ” Tsukishima accidentally meets eyes with Sugawara through the glass doors, and a chill goes down his spine when his brown eyes meet Tsukishima’s amber ones intensely before grinning something wild at him and Kuroo. 

“Oh.” He flushes, ducking his head down as he understands the meaning of Kuroo’s words.

“Yeah. _Oh.”_

“Not interested in what they’re selling?” Kuroo smirks at him over the rim of his glass, words loaded and eyes dangerous as they bore into Tsukishima, who can only shake his head in response, untrusting of his tongue and the dryness of his throat, trying to school his features into something more neutral again. 

Rich people were just a different breed, Tsukishima remarks to himself, maybe having more money equated to wanting more people in the bedroom.

“Not really.” Tsukishima mumbles, fidgeting with this glass and biting the inside of his cheek. “Too many moving parts.” His words make Kuroo burst out into loud chuckles, shaking his head as they die down between his lips, though their remnants cling to the lines of Kuroo’s eyes.

His eyes are extremely bright when they turn towards Tsukishima, but all Tsukishima can think about is how truly handsome he is, despite being unwilling to admit that to himself.

“Suga is _mostly_ harmless. It’s in court you have to watch out for, or he’ll mop the floor with you.” Kuroo offers, the mirth still in the lines of his smile. “Good thing you’re not a lawyer, then.”

The conversation lulls to a gentle stop as they listen to the muted bossa nova through the half-open French doors of the balcony. The silence is nice, but Tsukishima decides to ask the question he’s most curious about, despite his better judgement. “So, Kuroo-san,” He asks, “Could you humour me?”

“Depends on what it is, Tsukishima,” Kuroo answers solemnly. 

“Have you bought what they were selling?”

“No,” Kuroo shakes his head, winking at Tsukishima. “I don’t like to mix business with my pleasure, but Daichi is an incredible oversharer when drunk.” Kuroo finishes. “Curious one, are you?” He teases, his lips curled up into a teasing grin on one side of his handsome face. 

“Nothing wrong with being curious about a stranger’s friends’ sex lives,” Tsukishima states plainly despite the ridiculous sentence and finds himself finally returning Kuroo’s grins with small, barely-there smiles. 

“I prefer different things, I’m afraid.” Kuroo sips at the remnants of his drink, peering at Tsukishima through the side of eyes. “How about you, Tsukki?”

“Depends on what those things are, Kuroo-san,” Tsukishima replies, surprising himself with the provocative response, and meeting Kuroo’s surprised stare until he breaks eye contact, but he can’t seem to shake the subtly heated glance at the side of his neck, though.

The silence that blankets them is palpable, so the arrival of Akaashi and the other man of the hour’s sudden return to the balcony is not an unwelcome presence. “Hiya, bro.” Bokuto greets, immediately crowding around Kuroo and wrapping an arm around him. “I see you’ve met Tsukki. Did you annoy him to death in the twenty minutes that we’ve left you two alone?”

“No, Bokuto-san,” Tsukishima shakes his head, “Kuroo-san has been a decent company.” He finishes, smirking at Kuroo’s dramatically affronted face. “Tried my best to entertain him, but can’t please everyone I guess.” He laments, patting a hand over his chest almost tearfully. 

Bokuto and Kuroo lose themselves in an animated conversation about something Tsukishima didn’t exactly catch, so Akaashi snakes an arm around his elbow to pull him down so he can whisper to him. “You looked like someone had just slathered red paint on your cheeks earlier. Mind telling me what that was about?”

“Later, I guess.” 

The conversation is cut short once more when another man bursts out into an exhausted sigh at the sight of both Bokuto and Kuroo, and even Bokuto’s bright grin dims when he approaches them. “What are you two doing hiding out here when we have an event inside?”

Akaashi offers him one of his signature charming grins, while Tsukishima is doing his best for his face not to contort into something unsavoury when he recognises who he is. It’s the final third to DKT & Associates—the one with the terrifying husband that could eat him alive, he recounts from Kuroo’s stories. 

Sawamura Daichi. 

Though, he looks nothing like the image Kuroo had painted him as—a dangerous charmer interested in ruining pretty things he and his husband picked up in their free time—when he’s rounding up his business partners and long-time friends from disappearing from a company event with the energy of an exasperated parent, thick brows knit together in frustration.

“Just a bit of fresh air, Dai-san,” Kuroo says breezily. “No need to be worried, plus we also have guests here.” He cocks his head towards Akaashi and Tsukishima. “Wanted to say hi to them too.”

Daichi sighs again before his features school themselves in a placid, professional smile that is friendly enough to both Tsukishima and Akaashi. “Sawamura Daichi, a pleasure to meet you two.” 

Akaashi, ever equipped with his signature politeness, meets the older man’s smile with one of his own. “Akaashi Keiji, and this is Tsukishima Kei, the pleasure is all ours.” He supplies, saving Tsukishima the trouble of actually talking to Daichi.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation with these two, but we do have investors to entertain.” Daichi looks properly apologetic, and the breath Kuroo lets out of his nose is loud enough to make Bokuto laugh loudly. “Last time I talked to Mr. Haiba, he was unsubtly trying to make me go on an Omiai with his daughter,” Kuroo says.

“Isn’t Alisa dating a woman?” Daichi asks.

“Exactly! I’m going to try my best to digress. I don’t know, I’ll talk about a hallway, whatever that will bore him.” 

“I don’t think anyone wants to discuss hallways in a company event, Tetsu, even if I do like a properly arched hallway,” Bokuto muses, unwrapping his arms from Kuroo and straightening his tie almost lovingly. “But, Daichi’s right. Just endure for another hour, and maybe you can get Mr. Fukuhara in another rousing debate on his terrible backsplash.”

The oldest of the three turns to Akaashi, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek, while Kuroo merely maintains eye contact with Tsukishima. “I’ll be back later, keep Tsukki company for now,” Bokuto says, bumping his hip against Kuroo’s. “Don’t look so glum, bro. Tsukki will be here when we’re done socialising.” 

Once the owners and hosts of the party disappear into the room again, Akaashi corners him into a conversation to try to get at the bottom of Tsukishima’s pinched expression prior to him and Bokuto interrupting their silence in the balcony. “So, why did you have that look on your face earlier?”

“What _face?_ “ Tsukishima bites back, much harsher than intended that Akaashi’s eyebrows mildly twitch upwards, disrupting his normally blank expression. 

“ _That_ one, but more flushed,” Akaashi replies primly, wordlessly switching his full glass of champagne with Tsukishima’s almost empty wine glass to get him through the night. “Why? Finally met your match?” 

“What?”

“It's very rare to see you wound up, and Kuroo-san was the only person around your general vicinity, so I just thought to put those together.” He prompts, but Tsukishima’s silence is answer enough, especially when he takes such a big gulp of champagne that it almost makes him choke.

“I figured just as much.” Akaashi hums, “He can be quite provocative.” He finishes the rest of Tsukishima’s lukewarm wine with barely a wince, cocking his head to the side in a question. “What’d he say to you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard.” Akaashi pins him down with a long look when Tsukishima clams up. “Nothing I can’t handle too, Akaashi-san. It’s fine.” The younger one says, fidgeting with his fingers. 

“Did he flirt with you?”

“No,” Tsukishima answers too quickly for it to be convincing. 

“If you say so, Kei.” Akaashi ends their conversation after a long pause, knowing that he’d get nothing from the younger man unless he volunteers what they really talked about. 

They watch the rest of the guests mingle around the hall at the tail end of the event, watching the three men greeting people off and thanking them, with some bows goodbye courtesy of Daichi, exuberant handshakes with the odd hug or two for a handful of guests from Bokuto, and a tip of the chin with a smirk after a quick cheek to cheek or a single handshake from Kuroo.

“He’s an Interior Designer, but he’s also dabbled in Public Relations from what I’ve heard.”

“With that _sparkling_ personality?”

Tsukishima gulps the rest of Akaashi’s champagne, blinking the haze away from his eyes. “He reminds me of a cat, the way he’s just rubbing his face with those people.” 

Akaashi laughs at his comment, and the amusement in the blue of his eyes is enough to make Tsukishima scoff. “Cats can often be charming even if they deliberately knock things off counters just for their amusement, Kei.” He states plainly, watching Tsukishima simmer in his emotions for the rest of the evening until it was time for them to leave.

Their departure from the event doesn’t happen quietly either—Bokuto makes a show of cupping’s Akaashi’s cheeks and kissing him on the lips deeply, squashing Tsukishima in a huge hug, followed with a handshake from Daichi and most peculiarly, another guileless smile that didn’t exactly reach his eyes from his husband, Suga, when he eyed Kuroo and Tsukishima with thinly veiled curiosity yet again.

Kuroo leans in to press his left cheek, then his right, against Akaashi’s, a hand braced on his upper arm. “Good seeing you again, Akaashi,” He starts, before his eyes whisk towards Tsukishima, leaning in to do the same before he can move away. 

“You too, Tsukishima.” Kuroo murmurs, leaned in so close to Tsukishima that he could smell the spice of his perfume, and feel the warmth of his hand braced on his forearm despite the layers of his jacket and shirt before moving away. 

The cheek to cheek is somewhat harmless that the younger still manages to murmur his thanks over the extended invitation, but Tsukishima can’t help thinking about feeling Kuroo insert his business card into the outer pocket of his jacket in the cab, but Tsukishima won’t let Akaashi know that. 

—

Of course, Akaashi finds out.

Akaashi finds out two weeks later when he comes home from a long day of work, manuscripts piled high in the crook of his arm only to open the door to Tsukishima tucked into himself on the couch with a small slip of paper in his hand and his phone in the other, eyebrows drawn together in concentration that he doesn’t even notice his friend plucking the card from his fingers. 

“Akaashi—hey! Give me that!” Tsukishima _yelps_ , snapping out of his daze when Akaashi turns the card over. When he recognises the familiar company stationery, his brows rise up to his hairline when he sees the details on the card, specifically, whose details. “How did he even give this to you?”

“Slipped it into my coat, but that’s beside the point.” Tsukishima bites, standing up to try and snatch the little piece of paper from Akaashi, but the older man is much more agile than he is despite his exhaustion, especially with that mischievous spark in his eyes. 

“If the things Bokuto-san tells me are true, it takes a lot to pique his interest, and if you managed to get his attention in twenty minutes, he’s obviously interested.” Akaashi lets himself get wrestled into the lumpy cushions, but not before slipping the business card into his back pocket, Tsukishima in his lap as he desperately tries to look for it. 

“Have you texted him?”

“No!”

“Why not!”

“Why would I?”

“How would he text you? Did you give _him_ your number, then?

“As if!”

Akaashi stares at Tsukishima on his lap, studying his obviously flustered face with a raised eyebrow before his hand is shooting towards the younger’s phone and facing it towards him to unlock it. “What are you doing?” Tsukishima asks, shaken by the sudden action.

“Getting you out of your own head.” Akaashi manages to buck Tsukishima off of him, thumbs moving across the cracked glass of Tsukishima’s phone to compose a message, all while batting Tsukishima’s hands with his elbow to keep him away once the younger man realizes what was happening. 

“You don’t even know his number!” He _screeches_ in his panic, reaching for the device but Akaashi is much, much stronger than he looks. Akaashi’s small smile is triumphant when he hears the swoosh—the sound of the message successfully sending to Kuroo—before he tosses the phone back to Tsukishima. 

“Don’t underestimate my ways, Kei.” 

_Hello, Kuroo-san._

_It’s Tsukishima, we met at your company dinner two weeks ago._

  
  


At least he can applaud Akaashi in sounding close to what he does through text, but the mortification settles deep into his bones that it almost renders him speechless on the rug in the living room. “I can’t believe you did that—oh my god.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth to speak again, but a soft chime from his phone distracts him.

“Are you going to get that, or shall I?”

_You say that as if I’d forget someone like you that fast, Tsukishima._

_How have you been?_

—

The arrangement between Tsukishima and Kuroo comes much later after that text from Akaashi.

Much, much, _much_ later. 

It starts with texting, of course. In between Kuroo’s work and Tsukishima’s classes and internship. They talk about the most mundane things—Tsukishima’s classwork, Kuroo’s brunch meetings, and a regular volley of thinly veiled digs at each other for fun.

Unsurprisingly, Akaashi asks him about Kuroo in the middle of a Netflix binge in Tsukishima’s bedroom, his head tucked into the younger’s shoulder as the teenagers on Akaashi’s Macbook screen scream at each other, panicking about the drugged scones they were trying to destroy at a wake. 

“How are you and Kuroo-san?”

“He’s insufferable.”

“True, but I haven’t seen you this glued to your phone before. With Yamaguchi-kun, you prefer calls, so I doubt it’d be him or Akiteru-san you’re texting constantly.”

“He texts so much.”

“If you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t even grace him with a reply.” Akaashi reaches out to pause the screen, shifting on the bed to sit cross-legged in front of him. 

“What does he talk to you about?”

“Work, the weather, my classes, a stray cat he comes across.” Tsukishima rattles off, hugging his knees to his chest. “We talked about you, once.”

“Oh?”

“Kuroo-san told me that Bokuto-san really likes you.” The younger remarks, pausing to munch on a handful of popcorn. “He says that he’s surprised that you’ve been with him for over a year.”

“When did he tell you that exactly?”

“The company dinner. He likes that you don’t want to change Bokuto-san.”

“If Bokuto-san wants to change, it should be for himself, and certainly not for me,” Akaashi trails off, eyes thoughtful before he smiles at Tsukishima. “Enough about Bokuto-san and I. What about you and Kuroo-san? Has he invited you out?”

“No.”

“Do you want him to ask you out? 

Tsukishima mutters against the soft material of his sweatpants, before blinking at the ceiling. “You say that as if he _would_.”

—

Sometimes, Tsukishima thinks Akaashi can just _will_ things into existence just to prove a point because Kuroo asks him out two days later for Lunch. 

It starts like any other text conversation. Kuroo greets him a good morning, asks him how his day was. Tsukishima replies with a generic _hello, the day’s the same as usual._

Tsukishima nearly trips over his own feet when he reads the message, staring at the words on his screen until Yamaguchi waves his hand near Tsukishima’s face, making him grimace at it. “Tsukki? Are you okay? You just stopped in the middle of the road.”

He blinks, frowning in confusion before he decides a reply to Kuroo can wait until he has sat down and eaten breakfast. “Just a text, Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima immediately feels self-conscious under Yamaguchi’s inquisitive stare, flushing down to the neckline of his shirt as the other smiles at him reassuringly. 

“Did someone send you something inappropriate?” He asks, tugging at Tsukishima’s arm in the direction of one of his favourite ( _read also: overpriced_ ) cafes in Tokyo whenever he has the time to visit Tsukishima over the weekend or during the holidays.

“Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima hisses at him, suddenly overcome with the need to run his fingers through his hair, wincing when he tugs a knot from his wind-blown curls.

Yamaguchi laughs, all too immune to Tsukishima’s brand of poison at this point in their lives. “Sorry, Tsukki. You went all pale and shaken, which is my usual reaction when I get them.” 

Tsukishima doesn’t even have time to unpack _all of that_ , not wanting to get into whatever Yamaguchi had gotten himself into in university back in Miyagi. 

“That’s the reason you got from sifting through the rolodex of reactions in your head?” Comes the amused reply from Tsukishima, the beginnings of a grin starting to show itself on his face. 

“Either that or you just encountered something you’ve been avoiding for a specific amount of time now,” Yamaguchi smirks when Tsukishima shuts his mouth with a click of his jaw, eyes downcast and focused on anywhere and everywhere but his face. 

“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re cornered into something you’re not sure how to get out of.” He says almost triumphantly, running his fingers through his hair as he leans against the counter full of sugar and napkins.

The small fit of giggles and the fair bit of ogling from the gaggle of high school girls on the table across from where they’re standing was enough to momentarily displace his irritation from his dilemma before it was creeping back. 

Tsukishima digs his fingers into the napkin dispenser and tugs out too many of the brown tissues, shucking it into the pocket of his coat. “Someone asked me out for lunch.”

“A lunch date?”

“Yes.” 

“Someone at work?” Yamaguchi wonders, before walking to the counter to claim their orders, and setting their cups down on an empty spot on the second floor of the cafe. He crosses his legs, lugging his bag beside him before he’s looking at Tsukishima expectantly. “Well?”

“No, A friend of a friend. We met at a party Akaashi-san brought me along to.” Tsukishima says, opting for a more generalised explanation of the company dinner Akaashi’s boyfriend and now, _sugar daddy_ invited them to. “Oh, so they’re older?”

Kuroo was a good nine years older than him at twenty-nine, only two months junior to Bokuto, so yes, he was older. 

_Much_ older.

“Yes.” 

“Are they hot?” 

Tsukishima flushes at the question. “Yeah, sure.”

“Judging from your reaction, I guess they are.” Yamaguchi takes a short sip of his americano, his eyes boring into Tsukishima’s. “Do you get creep vibes from them?” 

Tsukishima bites at his muffin gingerly, thinking if a twenty-five-minute conversation in person and a couple of weeks through messages were enough to know the full extent of Kuroo’s character. “At first impression, no. From his texts, he’s perfectly courteous.” 

“Does he use punctuations properly?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t do it, he’s a definite weirdo.” Yamaguchi shakes his head solemnly, looking very much convinced about the absolute garbage he just spewed out. “ _I_ use proper punctuation, Yamaguchi.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t even save my number on your phone until after two months of us being friends, Tsukki. It cancels out.” The younger of the two presses, his eyes curling into crescents when he throws his head back to laugh. “Kidding. Kidding. Why have you been avoiding it then? Or _them,_ in this case?”

Tuskishima finds himself at a loss for words, which was rare for someone with a bottomless pool of scathing remarks he waded in for fun, staring down mournfully at his half-eaten banana nut muffin. “I’m not sure,” He starts, “I don’t feel we’d be a good match.”

Yamaguchi nods, humming as he pops a spoonful of a pastry in his mouth. “You wouldn’t know that for sure until you actually try.” He squirms when Tsukishima’s intense golden gaze pins him down into his seat, shaking his head nervously. “You are entitled to choose which sort of people you give your time, though.”

“Do I accept?” 

“Do you wanna? It’s just lunch, anyway. Easier to sweat off if it goes bad compared to dinner.” Yamaguchi advises, but Tsukishima isn’t so sure about that either.

Crossing his legs, Tsukishima digs through the pocket of his coat to look for his phone, typing his reply to Kuroo’s offer with a determined pout to his lips, almost slamming his phone down on the table and sipping at his macchiato after. 

Yamaguchi watches the entire thing with an amused look on his face, grinning when Tsukishima’s face grows pinched the same way back in middle school. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet!”

—

_Hello, Kuroo-san._

_I’m available for lunch on Thursday, after class._

_Thursday it is._

_Would 11:30 am work?_

_Yes, I think so._

_Any preferences I should aim for?_

_And make it that easy for you?_

_Anything to get into your good graces, Tsukki._

_I was thinking I scared you off by offering to meet._

_You can start by not calling me that._

_Also, it takes a lot more to unnerve me._

_It’s cute! But fine._

_Can I call you something else, then?_

_Tsukishima._

_Funny._

_I meant another nickname._

_How about Moonshine?_

  
  


_Do what you want._

_It just depends on whether or whether not I’ll actually respond to it._

  
  


_We’ll work up to it then._

_Shall I pick you up?_

_No, thank you._

_I can take the Metro._

_Can I at least drop you off where you need to go next?_

_Can’t have you thinking I’m a bad date, or I didn’t exert any effort for you._

_I’ll think about it, Kuroo-san._

_Here’s the address._

_[Location Pin]_

_See you soon, Moonshine._

  
  


—

Tsukishima’s relationship with Kuroo develops throughout many dates. 

Kuroo’s cheesy nickname for him actually sticks, and Tsukishima doesn’t hate it as much as he does, especially when coupled with Kuroo’s more affectionate smiles toward him.

Their first date goes relatively well in Tsukishima’s opinion. If someone had asked him if he had spent the better half of his morning frowning at the full-length mirror at his and Akaashi’s apartment trying to coordinate a decent enough outfit, Tsukishima would never admit it. 

Kuroo had been nothing but friendly touches once they had met in person again, all too cosy in the burgundy sweater he was wearing and nothing like the shiny office in Toranomon he had come from a few minutes before their date. 

Though he was very much committed to showing himself to Tsukishima as approachable, a sweater does nothing to soften the sheathed steel of his calculating gaze gives Tsukishima a reminder of who Kuroo Tetsurou was, one of many men in power aware of their status in life and knew very well how to maintain it.

But he tries, and Tsukishima appreciates the effort as he remembers the Kuroo he had met in the party **—** piercing glazes, measured politeness, and ice in his smile as he maintains a purely professional conversation with their investors about business and only business.

They had managed to get to know each other outside their mutual connection, Tsukishima gets the entire rundown of Kuroo’s hobbies and family, peppering in any random thing that he seems to remember in the middle of a conversation. 

Of course, it hadn’t been easy to progress with Tsukishima’s apprehension, and personality, just in general. 

He was just curious to see how much he could push and prod at Kuroo’s buttons until he grew tired of this entire thing and gloat about how he had been _right_ , that Kuroo would get bored of pursuing him, but Kuroo **—** being the stubborn, provocative, handsome bastard he was **—** merely pushed back against Tsukishima in a complicated tango of thinly veiled, back-handed flirtation and mental gymnastics. 

Kuroo had made it known to Tsukishima that he wasn’t rushing anything in between them in one of their lunch dates, which was becoming an almost bi-weekly occurrence now, reaching over to hold Tsukishima’s clammy hands and intertwining their fingers on the table to assure him.

Tsukishima had been conflicted about the entire set up—Kuroo was too nice, too courteous, too generous —and he wasn’t sure how much more he could tapdance with his hesitation of taking things to the next step, in fear of jeopardising the pseudo intimate friendship he had shared with Kuroo.

The almost six-month-long courtship had been nice. 

He appreciated how slow things were moving with the number of dates they had already been in, especially with initial apprehension he had over maintaining contact with Kuroo in the first place, but Tsukishima was only a man. 

He wouldn’t be lying if he said he wouldn’t mind a little bit of action right about now.

Kuroo hadn’t even kissed him on the mouth, even once, opting for a kiss on the cheek once Tsukishima had given him the green light to do so whenever they met and parted ways. The farthest Kuroo had gone to actually touching him almost inappropriately was when he had almost tripped on the curb, and the older man had reached out to hold his waist to steady him.

Needless to say, even Tsukishima had started to get a little impatient. 

Aside from the lack of action, there were also gifts. 

At first, it was small things, like souvenirs from Kuroo’s business trips, then it had gradually snowballed into accessories from luxury brands Tsukishima had never even heard of until he googled their names.

Tsukishima couldn’t even reject the absurdly expensive gifts from the older man due to his insistence. _Rejecting gifts is bad manners, Moonshine,_ Kuroo had once joked, wagging his finger at Tsukishima before he pushed the paper bag back in his direction. 

The French perfume from their most recent date sitting on his dresser still in its original packaging, the bold black and white letters of the label staring Tsukishima in the face when he reached for his deodorant every morning.

In between Kuroo’s insane workload as a senior partner of their firm, and Tsukishima’s gruelling hours split between senior-level classes and his internship, their relationship had relied mostly on texts and calls that evolved later on to facetime calls brought about Tsukishima mistakenly dialling his number and being unable to close the call before Kuroo had answered. 

All he wanted to do was call Akaashi to check on the older man, but it had him blinking against the bright glare of his laptop screen, slacked jawed and staring at Kuroo only clad in a robe, and his hair dripping on the other side of the screen. 

_“Moonshine? Everything okay?”_ Kuroo asks, looking extremely handsome with his features all knit up in worry for Tsukishima like that, despite wiping shampoo suds away from his eyes.

“I may have dialled the wrong number,” Tsukishima manages to say when he gets his bearings back, whisking away from the droplet of water trailing down the side of his neck. “I’m so sorry for interrupting your shower.” Tsukishima mumbles, rubbing at his face tiredly and closing his laptop. 

_“It’s really late,”_ Kuroo’s deep voice resonates out through the speakers of his phone, and Tsukishima’s eyes flitter towards the digital clock on his bedside table, the neon numbers reading _1:26 am_ almost mockingly at him. _“What are you still doing up?”_

“I just finished a paper, and I was going to call someone.” The younger of the two supplies, groaning at the reading materials and notebooks littered on his bed. “To be fair, yours and his contact details are next to each other on my contacts.” 

_“Someone?”_

“Yes, Kuroo-san. I was actually going to call Akaashi-san.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes, ruffling his fringe when Kuroo grins at him through the screen, sharp and scrutinising. “What about you, why are you up late?”

_“Bokuto and I had to finalise some plans with my team before I’m due to fly to Singapore in two days. I just got home an hour ago actually.”_

“I’m sorry. You’re probably really tired now.”

_“It’s really okay, Tsukishima, it has been a while since we talked properly. I don’t mind.”_ Kuroo says, smiling through the screen. _“How about you call Akaashi first and I’ll call you again once I’m done with my shower?”_

“You don’t need to go to bed yet?” Comes the hesitant question from the younger, to which Kuroo shakes his head at.

_“I’ll be meeting up with Daichi in the afternoon for any final changes that we missed earlier. I won’t need to go to work in the morning.”_ Kuroo explains, _“Call your friend, baby, and text me if you still want to talk after.”_

Baby.

_Baby._

How many more nicknames must Kuroo call him before the novelty of seeing him flush at them wears off, Jesus Christ.

“Uhm,” Tsukishima’s mouth goes dry at the pet name, blinking rapidly when the weight of the syllables and Kuroo’s deep voice settles at the pit of his stomach and adds to the months' long frustration. Either Kuroo didn’t notice his slip up, or he’s too busy savouring Tsukishima’s reaction to it. “I can call him tomorrow instead.”

“ _Oh,”_ Kuroo replies, laughing. “ _You sure?”_

“Yes.”

“ _How about I get back to you? In say,”_ Kuroo trails off, staring off somewhere behind his phone, “ _Ten minutes? Just to finish washing up.”_

Tsukishima almost forgot that he’s been talking to Kuroo while he was half-naked, after being interrupted by his sudden call. _“Can I call you after? Or will you be going to bed after?”_

“I can wait,” The younger schools his expression cooly, staring at Kuroo down the length of his nose haughtily. “But not that long.”

_“I won’t be long. Be right back, baby.”_ Tsukishima nods stiffly, trying to turn a deaf ear to the pet name, bone-deep and all too pleasing to him. 

In the ten minutes that Tsukishima waits for Kuroo to finish up, he belatedly realises in the middle of finishing his course work that he’s missed dinner. Kuroo calls him back in the middle of eating a granola bar, hunched over the counter and chewing his food sleepily. “ _Made it in time.”_

“Just barely.” 

“ _Midnight snack?”_ Kuroo asks, staring at Tsukishima from where his phone is propped up against a jar of sugar. 

“Late dinner, actually. Didn’t notice the time while I was working.”

“ _You should always have meals on time,”_ Kuroo admonishes gently, then briefly disappears from the screen. _“And that’s barely enough to get you full.”_

“Akaashi-san and I usually have dinner together, but he’s pulling a late night at work, so,” Tsukishima shrugs, “I just forgot, I guess.”

Kuroo reappears, rubbing a towel against his head. Tsukishima notes it's probably the first time he’s seen Kuroo’s normally wayward strands flat on his forehead. “ _How about we have a late dinner? I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to whatever’s open.”_ He suggests, his tone light and contemplating, and Tsukishima is too weak to decline. 

“Kuroo-san, it’s two in the morning.”

“ _We’re in Tokyo. We’ll find something open,_ ” He offers, “ _We can even go to a convenience store if you’re in the mood for something quick. I’d offer to cook for you, but I don’t think you’d be up to wait.”_

“You have work later,” Taukishima rebuts weakly. 

“ _In the afternoon. So, do I pick you up?”_ Kuroo replies, cocking his head to the side as he lets Tsukishima think on his invitation.

Tsukishima misses several beats before he replies, which he blames on running on fumes in the later hours of the night and his empty stomach. “How about I go to your place?” He retaliates before he realises what he’s suddenly opened up for the both of them. 

“So that you don’t have to drive, it’s late.” 

“ _Metro’s closed for the day, Moonshine._ ” Kuroo laughs, but he’s not declining Tsukishima’s counteroffer and it doesn’t help Tsukishima's case at all, with how excited he looks at the younger’s initiative. “I can take a cab.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Kuroo replies after what feels like too long, and Tsukishima is not so calmly getting onto his feet. “ _But you have to let me drop you off in the morning.”_

“The Metro’ll be open in the morning. I’ll be fine, I invited myself over.”

“ _You’d still be my guest, Tsukishima. It would be rude for me to just sleep and let you go home alone.”_ Kuroo insists, ever the gentleman, “ _What if you stay over? I can drop you at home, or wherever you want before I meet up with Daichi._ ”

They’ve never done that, Tsukishima thinks weakly. 

A sudden weight sits heavy on Tsukishima’s belly and makes him squirm—the weight of the possibility of things happening. 

“ _I’ll stay over, but you can drop me off the nearest station. I don’t want to put you out of the way tomorrow._ ” Tsukishima states, leaving no room for argument with the older man and pulling his towel off the hanger on the closet. Kuroo’s laughter is deep and soothing over the line, sweeping over Tsukishima like a balm. _“Alright. Anything you want? I’ll order in.”_

“Surprise me,” Tsukishima says breathlessly, suddenly excited over the entire thing. “ _Okay, and by the way, be sure to bring any sort of identification with you. Security’s kind of tight here. See you, baby.”_

Tsukishima makes a noise of confirmation, going back to his room to pack an overnight bag before he sinks to the floor and muffles a groan into his towel. 

He’s going to spend a night at Kuroo’s place. 

At his own insistence too. 

He makes eye contact with Akaashi, who seems to have just come home, when he steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, frowning when Akaashi takes a swig of milk straight from the carton. 

“Akaashi-san, what in the actual fuck?” Tsukishima asks, while Akaashi only turns the carton towards him, the bold block kanji of his name written in sharpie on the side. “It’s my milk.” He all but shrieks out, the recent stretch of deadlines finally catching up to him.

“Why the fuck are you awake?” Akaashi asks, staring at the balled-up dirty laundry on Tsukishima’s arm, and he has the sense to tell Akaashi the obvious truth, well, some of it. “I showered?”

“Why?”

“I’m going out.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Yes. Why is this a big deal?”

Akaashi’s prodding stare makes Tsukishima shiver both from the chill of the living room and the inquisitive intensity of his eyes. “Oh, that kind of _out_ ,” He teases as he shuts the fridge door close, before padding to his room and tossing something in Tsukishima’s direction before he can rebuke the statement.

The items in Tsukishma’s hand are enough to make his entire body flush. “Have fun,” Akaashi says pleasantly, all too triumphant when he sees Tsukishima sputter in their living room with a packet of lube and a strip of condoms in his hand.

—

Kuroo wasn’t joking when he said Security was kind of tight here. 

Kuroo neglected to say that he lived in an upscale neighbourhood in Shirokane, Minato-Ku, in a luxury highrise with a single square foot as expensive as a month of Akaashi’s and Tsukishima’s shared rent in the university town, all too surprised when the taxi driver rolled up in front of the building directly across the Sheraton Miyako. 

The taxi fare makes him wince a bit, but in the time he has been dating Kuroo, he has never shouldered the bill even if he offers. Sometimes Kuroo doesn’t even let him see the bill, only slipping a black credit card into the bill holder and passing it onto the waitstaff with a poised smile.

He’s greeted by a doorman, who opened the locked double doors of the building only accessible by a _passcode_ before presenting his identification as Kuroo’s guest to the concierge, her eyes boring into Tsukishima’s even as she spoke to the older man at the phone to confirm things with him.

Never tell Tsukishima he doesn’t put any effort into his dating life when he’s up at the asscrack of dawn on the other side of the city when someone pats his shoulder and before he knew it, he was being greeted by Kuroo’s big smile in the lobby. “Hey, hope the drive wasn’t too long.” Kuroo comments, opening his arms for a brief hug before they got into the elevator. 

“Not much traffic, security check took much longer to be honest.” Tsukishima whispers, to which Kuroo shrugs his shoulders as he watches the floor number display get higher and higher. 

“I knew it.” Tsukishima states, shaking his head and almost laughing in disbelief. 

“Knew what?” 

“That you’d have a penthouse apartment.”

Kuroo holds the elevator door open for him, chuckling as he rounds the corner to open his apartment door. “It’s got a nice view, what can I say.”

“I also kind of thought you’d be living in Roppongi.” Tsukishima breathes out, removing his sneakers by the hall and switching them for the soft house slippers Kuroo’s provided him before following the older man into the living room. 

“Too crowded, I like it here,” Kuroo replies, setting Tsukishima’s bag down onto his couch. “Plus, Kenma would never let me hear the end of it.”

Ah, yes.

“Kozume Kenma? The pro-gamer?”

“Just the one,” Kuroo beams with pride not unlike a parent’s when talking about their prized off-spring. “He’s a childhood friend. Lives not too far from here too.” He walks up the corner of his living room, parting the curtains for Tsukishima. “Not bad, right?”

“It is beautiful.” Tsukishima remarks politely, taking in the modern interior of the rest of his apartment and appreciating the simple but sophisticated decor, and the dark colours complementing the wood accents around. 

It didn’t seem like Kuroo looked like the type of man who boasted about his money to anyone interested enough to listen, most of the decor being practical or toned down to his tastes.

It was a sensible home, for a sensible man, albeit being too big for a single person.

“Thank you. It was a team effort.” Kuroo answers, tugging Tsukishima’s coat off his shoulders before hanging it in a coat closet. “I’ll show you around, come on.” 

Kuroo tugs at his wrist to head back into the genkan, waving his arm around the closets on both of Tsukishima’s sides. “Coat closet, storage room.” He starts, dragging Tsukishima gently behind him. “Powder room. Living room, kitchen and dining room,” He points at the doors at his left. “Along with the guest bedroom with a balcony.” 

Kuroo shows him around the moderately decorated guest bedroom before he turns to the right, showing the master bedroom and main bathroom.

His personal office is the room in the middle, Kuroo explains to him it was a smaller bedroom before he appropriated it for work as he ushers Tsukishima in, and Tsukishima finds himself in awe of the amazing view of the city lights from Kuroo’s desk in the middle of the room to the floor-length windows. 

The wall to the right has a glass board on it with a hand-drawn calendar drawn onto it, Kuroo’s measured script detailing his agenda for the month while its borders are littered with colour coordinated post-its per item, all filled with jargons or foreign-sounding names, and the entirety of the following week blocked out for his trip to Singapore. 

Tsukishima also notices the other wall lined up with Kuroo’s degrees, and the shelf below it is showcasing a handful of achievements and a few framed pictures of a much younger looking version of Bokuto, Kuroo, and Daichi in university, young faces pulled into big, boisterous grins. 

Kuroo’s family is also present on the shelf, and Tsukishima thinks Kuroo is the perfect mix of his parents’ features with his mother’s soulful eyes and lips, with his father’s strong jaw and straight nose. His sister looks like she can pass as Kuroo’s twin, if he was being honest—long, dark hair and the same mischievous amber eyes staring up at him from the frame. 

Kuroo notices him staring at the picture and starts digging into his drawer, pulling out a smaller frame with a picture inside it and handing it into Tsukishima’s hands. Kuroo in the picture seems to be no more than five or six, he has the same wayward hair, chubby cheeks smeared with mud and grinning up the camera with a disgruntled orange cat in his arms. 

“Oh my god,” Tsukishima laughs, “I really thought you were lying when you said the hair was natural.” 

“It’s really because of the way I sleep, Moonshine. Can’t seem to shake that habit off.” He sets the baby picture on the tidy desk over his iPad before he turns to Tsukishima, clasping his hand around his. “But enough of that, let’s go back to the kitchen.”

“You really ordered in?” Tsukishima asks, feeling all too out of place in his pullover, even with Kuroo’s all-black tee and Nike sweats ensemble. “Yep,” Kuroo answers, turning into a corner and walking behind an island with Tsukishima trailing him slowly on the hardwood. “Sit wherever you like.”

Kuroo’s taking out boxes out of a plastic bag, tearing cling film and foil lids off take away containers of Tonkatsu and taking out beer bottles and popping their caps off from the fridge with a measured pace to his actions. “Shall we?” 

“That’s a lot of food, Kuroo-san.” Tsukishima says when he makes himself comfortable on a barstool, pressing his hands in front of him to say his thanks, brows furrowing when Kuroo gives him his own plate piled high with rice and a thick pork cutlet on top.

“Think for it as a reward after a long day at work,” Kuroo winks at him, offering him a bottle of beer that Tsukishima does take. “You eat so little for someone your height, Tsukishima.”

“If I ate even more, I’d tower over you even more Kuroo-san.”

“I don’t mind, more of you to appreciate, then.” Kuroo chews on his food thoughtfully, before raising his shoulders to shrug. Tsukishima flushes at his words. “But yeah, all of this is too heavy to have all the time, especially with the beer.”

“Your abs would disappear under all of it.” Tsukishima completes his thought for him, smirking when Kuroo pats at his belly for good measure. “Exactly, then all those hours at the gym would go waste.”

He catches Kuroo’s face shift with something akin to fondness under the lights as he stares at Tsukishima in his kitchen, but the younger plays it off as a trick of the light brought about by late hours and the fullness of his stomach making him sleepy.

Conversation flows easily between then under the warm lights of Kuroo’s immaculate kitchen, the light bouncing off of the chrome of his espresso machine in the corner and the Damascus blade of his knives hanging off a magnet strip over the sink, the smell of fried food and tonkatsu sauce mingling in the air. 

They talk about current pressing topics—Kuroo’s upcoming business trip to Singapore, Tsukishima’s remaining deliverables in the following week that had the younger chugging his third bottle of beer in a desperate attempt to not think about the chunk of material he had to go through for some upcoming exams. 

Tsukishima nibbles on a bit of rice in his plate, pushing the cabbage salad around it. “I’m trying my best to just widdle the material down bit by bit so I don’t have to cram at the last minute.”

“That’s good, lessen the things to think about,” comes the soft hum from Kuroo, then the question follows. “If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you spend per semester?”

“I’m actually on a scholarship, so I don’t pay much. Most of the money I get from work goes to rent, bills and groceries.” Tsukishima makes the mental calculations in his head, trying to recall the figures but it doesn’t come to him with the slight haze of alcohol in his blood. 

Tsukishima’s a lot more willing to volunteer information about his school life, with how exhausted he was. “It’s a great help, but really competitive. I have to put in the hours to make sure I reach the criteria at the end of every semester to maintain it.”

“Sounds like you’re spreading yourself too thin, by the way, how do you feel about ice cream?” Kuroo murmurs as he cleans up their used plates and cutlery, packing the remainder of the food in Tupperwares and pulling out a pint of Häagen-Dazs. 

Tsukishima’s eyes sparkle when he sees the flavour, immediately digging his spoon into the pint with much more gusto than he did with his actual dinner. 

“I get by,” Tsukishima replies when he picks up the conversation where it was left. “After all, this is what I really wanted.”

Kuroo makes a move to wash the dishes, and Tsukishima’s hopping off his chair to stand beside him, already pulling his sleeves up. “Yes?”

“I want to help, and I’m not going to take no for an answer.” Tsukishima states, tugging at a dish towel hanging off the oven handle. Kuroo lets out a surprised laugh, staring at the younger male a beat too long before going back to dipping his hands into the soapy water. “Alright.”

“I’d like to make you an offer,” Tsukishima has overheard Kuroo say those words on a project bidding, but they lack the same professional efficacy or sharpness to the words when Kuroo murmurs them to him in the silence of his kitchen, whilst handing a plate for Tsukishima to dry.

“If you’d let me,” The older man starts before he trails off, gauging his reaction. “I’d like to help you. Financially.”

Tsukishima doesn’t drop the expensive-looking plate and sets it on a drying rack in front of him, but he does go stiff at the formal offer. 

Strangely, he expected things to go down this line—insanely rich, overly generous older man taking a young, pretty-faced, struggling college kid to expensive dates, gifting him with presents Tsukishima had stopped looking up due to the astronomical prices—it was only a matter of time of course. 

Though, it still takes Tsukishima by surprise. The thing about Kuroo becoming his sugar daddy had been a long-running joke between Akaashi and Tsukishima. The younger man had no actual plans to take it seriously, but it seems like Kuroo plans to. “That’s nice of you, Kuroo-san, but no, thank you. I can cope.” Tsukishima supplies, smiling at him thinly.

“If you’re thinking that it has a catch, there’s none,” Kuroo speaks clearly despite how low his voice has dropped, it’s soothing, but Tsukishima is reluctant, suddenly reminded of the paper bags filled with designer clothing and foreign luxury products sitting in the back of his closet, unopened and unused. 

“What we have now is fine with me. We don’t need to progress beyond this if you don’t want to. I like your company, baby.” Kuroo finishes with the dishes and helps Tsukishima dry the rest, leaning back on the island and crossing his arms.

The pet name is back, deep and pleasing before Kuroo is stepping towards him and reaching out to trap him between the counters.

“I’m aware that I have way too much money, and frankly, I don’t know where to spend it on.” Kuroo’s hands settle on Tsukishima’s waist, to guide him closer. 

“Ever thought of a retirement fund?” Tsukishima murmurs, watching the sun peek through the clouds on the glass wall of the living room behind Kuroo, the dark blue sky growing tinged with soft pinks and bright corals. “You are getting old, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo pinches his waist lightly, which makes him jolt in his arms.

“Between my inheritance and my investments outside the firm, I could retire today and still have too much for myself.” That was a nice way to say that he had money to burn. 

Tsukishima doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he decides to set them on Kuroo’s shoulders, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt.

Kuroo’s eyes shine as they stare up at Tsukishima, delighted at the action. “I could take care of you. I _want_ to take care of you. Will you let me?”

“You might lose interest in me,” Tsukishima bites, lips curling into a frown. “I don’t want to depend on anyone else for my education.” 

“I actually find you incredibly interesting, and I’m not telling you to slack off at work or in your academics, I’m saying I can alleviate some of the stress of making sure that you have a roof over your head. Making sure you’re not making yourself sick eating instant noodles three days a week.” 

Tsukishima feels himself get pulled towards Kuroo’s shoulder and his body thrums in delight with the proximity of a warm body pressed against his that isn’t Akaashi’s. He buries his head into the side of Kuroo’s neck, inhaling the clean scent of his body wash without the familiar spice of his usual perfume on his skin. 

“Are you asking me to quit my job?”

“No, but you could save the money you earn from there for a rainy day and let me handle things.”

Kuroo’s presence almost feels like a weighted blanket at this point of their courtship, grounding and comfort personified, but Tsukishima decides to break the silence as he points something else out. “The ice cream’s melting.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do you want to go to bed? I prepared the guest room for you.” Kuroo asks, running his fingers down the line of his spine over the wool of the younger male’s pullover. “Yeah sure, but I think I forgot my toothbrush at home.” 

Tsukishima feels the deep rumbles of Kuroo’s low chuckles against his shoulder. “There’s one in the bathroom drawer.” 

“Can I ask you about something else, Kuroo-san?”

“Sure.” 

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” Tsukishima asks when he lifts his head off Kuroo’s shoulder, feeling the muscle tense under his fingers. “We’ve been dating for six months now, and you’ve offered to be my sugar daddy of all things before you did. Why not?” His tone comes out a touch too whiny and accusatory, but even Tsukishima's patience was a finite resource.

“Didn’t want to overstep my boundaries,” Kuroo admits, smiling apologetically at Tsukishima. 

“I wanted you to kiss me by the fourth month, by the sixth I was just wondering when you were going to break me down gently because you just weren’t interested.” Tsukishima’s confession pulls another one of Kuroo’s deep laughs from his chest. “You don’t need to treat me like a baby, I’m twenty, Kuroo-san, I’m an adult.”

“You forget I’m almost ten years older than you.”

“I’m already a consenting adult, Tetsu.” Tsuskishima is slow to respond, blinking away sleep from his eye that he doesn’t notice Kuroo’s breath hitch at his name. “I’m not a baby.”

Kuroo smiles at him again, warm hands on Tsukishima’s back as the younger dares to comb his fingers through the shorter strands at his nape. “You’re my baby, though, Moonshine.” He whispers, leaning in to plant a kiss on Tsukishima’s cheek. “My baby’s whose falling asleep in the kitchen. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Tsukishima lets out a grunt, untangling himself from Kuroo and heads down the hall, straight to the bathroom to rummage through the drawers for a toothbrush. Kuroo disappears into his own for a couple of minutes and reappears into Tsukishima’s bedroom for the night with a change of clothes in his hands for the younger, the tips of his shorter hair wet. 

“I bought you a change of clothes,” Kuroo says, but Tsukishima is reaching out to tug him closer by the pockets of his sweatpants. “Never thought you’d have a cuddly side to you, Tsukki.”

“Bokuto-san calls me Tsukki. Thought I was your baby. You called me that at least three times tonight.”

“You were counting?”

“Thought it was a slip of the tongue.” 

“It was, at first. You didn’t point it out, wanted to see if you were going to tell me to stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop, didn’t I? Like it. Sounds nice.”

“Already making demands?”

“You still haven’t given me what I asked for. Thought you wanted to take care of me.”

Kuroo tangles his fingers back into Tsukishima’s hair before he’s tipping his head back and leaning down to meet Tsukishima’s lips halfway, before stopping himself and pressing their foreheads together. Kuroo studies his face closely—the line of frustration in his brows, the half-lidded eyes, and the tongue that slips out to wet his slightly chapped lips.

The wetness makes Tsukishima’s lips shine from the light coming in from the hall, and he speaks when he feels Kuroo isn’t getting any closer. “Or were you just talking big back in the kitchen?” Tsukishima’s lips graze Kuroo’s a bit when he speaks, raspy with a peculiar mix of want and exhaustion, and a touch of desperation. 

Kuroo lets out a laugh, inching closer to Tsukishima when he feels the arms around his waist and hips. “Wanted to see how long I can drag this out until you ask properly for the things you want from me.”

Tsukishima can feel the heavyweight of Kuroo words, well aware of their extent, and the subtle glide of his lips as he enunciates every word of his sentence. He could almost smell and taste the sugary balm on Kuroo’s lips, feeling the sudden spike of temperature in the room. 

Tsukishima realises that after this, there would be a possibility of things changing between them—a shift in their current dynamics—but this is Kuroo’s way of giving him an out, by only giving him things he’s asked for. 

Kuroo’s laugh reverberates between the tiny space between them, pulling back to press his pointer finger in the space between his eyebrows. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Just thinking about if going to bed without a kiss is worth it.” Tsukishima opens his eyes and looks up at Kuroo giving him a measured stare, wanting so _so_ much to let go of his inhibitions.

A gentle stroke of his thumb on the curve of his cheekbone makes Tsukishima bend to his own desires.

“Kiss me, please.” He pleads, and Kuroo’s 

eyes glimmer with a speck of satisfaction in the deep amber of his irises when he leans back in, hands sure around the curve of Tsukishima’s jaw, before swooping down to close the distance between their lips.

The older male angles his head down to take Tsukishima’s lower lip between his own, sucking at it gently while Tsukishima’s could only attempt to mirror the motions, unable to quiet the pleased moan from his chest at their lips finally pressing wetly against each other. 

Tsukishima lets out a sharp breath at the sensation from his nose, fingers curling into the back of Kuroo’s shirt when he feels the older’s tongue licking at the seam of his lips. He parts his mouth and lowers his jaw, gasping at the sharp sweetness of mint when Kuroo licks between his lips, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan that makes Kuroo smile before he’s sliding his tongue into Tsukishima’s mouth.

Tsukishima has definitely kissed a number of people in his lifetime; ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends spaced far in between in the occasional game of seven minutes in heaven he had been subjected to in the handful of college parties, and the rare hookups to scratch an itch. 

He was no stranger to the baser desires of his own body.

He wasn’t _clueless_ when it came to things like this. 

Tsukishima knows the rudimentary basics of how to kiss someone, but he has definitely never kissed anyone the way Kuroo does.

Oh no. 

The best he thought he ever had couldn’t even come close to Kuroo. 

It’s a blessing in disguise that Tsukishima had been sitting on the bed before things had escalated, because Kuroo kisses like a man determined to reduce Tsukishima into a pliant, gasping, boneless mess before in his arms effortlessly. 

Tsukishima wants to fall back into the bed, wants Kuroo between his thighs, wants his hands curling in his hair and everywhere else as he kisses him like a dream, with his plush, full lips and all the experience to back it all up. 

He subtly pulls back to get what he wants—to be pressed into the bed and kissed until his lungs are desperate for air—and gets exactly that and more when leans back into the bed and Kuroo chases after his lips, knees digging into the mattress as gravity presses their lips harder against one another when they fall onto the sheets. 

Kuroo makes the move to pull back but the desperate keen that leaves Tsukishima’s lips cuts his plans abruptly, opting to kiss him deeper until Tsukishima is digging his head into the thick comforter and arching back to kiss Kuroo with the same tenacity, ripping a deep groan deep from his throat between their sealed lips.

They part lips with a wet sound and a thread of saliva between their bottom lips that Kuroo licks away, Tsukishima’s chest heaving as the older man pecks his lips softly one more time before he’s kissing his cheek and hanging his head between his arms as he catches his breath. 

Tsukishima makes the move to speak, but his voice comes out raspy. “That was adequate.” He whispers, breathing hard as Kuroo tips his head up to stare at him, smirking at the challenge but equally as breathless. 

He could only assume how he looks like, pinned underneath Kuroo in the dimmed morning light, golden curls rumpled between the older’s fingers, skin flushed from his cheeks to his chest and lips swollen from what Tsukishima now acknowledges as the best kiss of his life. He desperately wants more, but the need for rest is weighing his eyes down, he’ll settle with this for now.

Kuroo looks less of a wreck, the only indication of what has just transpired is the slick redness of his lips and the thin ring of amber around the blown-out irises of his eyes glittering in the dim morning light. “Sure, it was.” His voice has dropped an octave or two, and Tsukishima somehow takes pride in having played a part in that even if he’s sweating in his pullover. 

The smile Kuroo gives him warms his belly up pleasantly before he’s leaning down to press a chaste kiss on Tsukishima’s lips again. “I think it’s time for bed.” He murmurs, stealing another kiss from Tsukishima, though he doesn’t make any moves to get up. “How about one more? Just to give you a fighting chance to better yourself.” Tsukishima reaches up to run his fingers on Kuroo’s shorter hair and arches up to meet his kisses. 

“Okay, just a little more.” Kuroo acquiesces, while Tsukishima feels the temperature of the room drop into something more pleasant and less heated, humming when Kuroo kisses him once on the temple before pulling away as if it almost pained him. “I’ll leave you to rest.” He says, before closing the door behind him with a gentle click. 

Tsukishima doesn’t even mull the kisses they shared, exhaustion creeping up his spine as the adrenaline fizzles out and leaves him curled up on the bed, snoring softly.

—

The talk of Kuroo supporting Tsukishima financially was swept under the table after Tsukishima was dropped at the nearest station in the afternoon with the older of the two leaning in to kiss Tsukishima on the cheek before he got out of the car, parting with him with some choice words. “Think about what I offered, then we’ll talk about it when I get back next weekend.”

Tsukishima comes clean to Akaashi when he comes home later in the day, while Akaashi looks like he just rolled off the bed with his curly hair a wispy mess on his head and a hard pillow crease on his cheek. “Done with deadlines?” Tsukishima asks and the slow nod Akaashi gives is enough as an answer.

“I have something else tell you, though.” Tsukishima starts.

“Go on. My brain’s somewhat recuperated after the three weeks of stress.” Akaashi answers as he sips on a can of red bull for no apparent reason anymore. It’s probably his Pavlovian response at four pm to keep his brain awake until the ass crack of dawn to make sure Udai met his deadlines. 

“Kuroo-san,” Tsukishima says in a small voice, sitting down on their dining table. Akaashi’s expression urges him to keep talking. “He’s offered to support me as Bokuto-san does with you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing yet. I fell asleep before I could mull it over.” Tsukishima admits, fiddling with the cuff of his sweater. Another gift from Kuroo, Tsukishima notices, a soft oversized wool sweater in dark taupe from an up and coming designer in New York with a black stripe running down the neck down his left arm. 

Style and comfort, at just a thousand seven hundred dollars, just a small taste of what Kuroo could truly offer him.

“You fell asleep?” Akaashi lets out a small burst of breath from his nose, laughing into his hand. “So, nothing happened last night?” 

Aside from their first kiss and first make-out session happening after two seconds between them, nothing. 

Akaashi blinks at him slowly, as if to say, _hmm, I’ll believe you,_ but he doesn’t push.

“I went over, had a late dinner. He gave me a tour of his apartment,” Tsukishima lists what happened before the conversation had turned in that direction. 

“We talked about university, then he offered. Told me he had too much money and that he wanted to take care of me.” 

Akaashi hums, encouraging him to proceed, blue eyes kind behind his glasses. “That nothing needed to change if I didn’t want it to.”

“You’re hesitant,” The older man trails off, pushing his glasses up to his head as a de facto hair band, his dark curls a tangled mess on his head, “What’s bothering you?”

“I don’t want to depend on him, or anyone really. There’s a part of me that thinks supporting a college kid is a waste of his money.”

“Between the both of us, supporting you is never a waste of money. You’re in the most prestigious university in the country, on a scholarship. You’re not going around slacking off, you’re insanely talented.” Akaashi speaks softly, “If you think he’s going to get bored of you, then Kuroo-san’s a jackass.”

Tsukishima lets out a surprised sound at the insult in Akaashi’s well-mannered voice, drumming his fingers on the cheap laminate before Akaashi reaches out to hold his hand. “It’s not a bad thing to ask for help, I’ve been through that. Your own pride is a hard thing to wrestle with, but ultimately, I just thought, fine, I’ll try it out. Two years later, I lucked out with someone that makes me incredibly happy.” 

“I still work for my necessities, I made it known to Bokuto-san that I’m not someone he can keep in a penthouse under lock and key, and fuck on demand in exchange for the latest collection from a brand, or a hefty cheque. He doesn’t mind the fact that I argue, or that I’m unavailable for certain days because of work because we’ve set boundaries, and we’re allowed to change our minds.” He continues, reaching in the middle of the table to peel an orange, offering half to Tsukishima as he pops a wedge in his mouth. 

“The arrangement works like any other relationship, Kei. Think about what you want and tell him, and listen to what he wants, then you work it out. If it doesn’t, say the rest of your niceties and get out.” Akaashi finishes, getting up to wrap his arms around Tsukishima’s shoulders. 

“Kuroo-san is a decent man, he’ll understand whatever you choose to do. If not, well, we both know where he works. We can egg his office or something.” Tsukishima imagines Akaashi in his managed, tight coiled fury wielding an egg to fling it at Kuroo’s three-piece suit. “You’re a great friend, Akaashi-san.”

“Anytime, Kei,” Akaashi replies, but he doesn’t let go of Tsukishima and kisses him on the temple, smoothing his hair with a careful hand. “Don’t worry too much about it. A touch hypocritical coming from me, but you’re smart. You’ll figure it out.” 

—

After Tsukishima submits his last deliverable for the semester, Tsukishima sends a text to Kuroo just before he leaves for Singapore, just to let Kuroo know that he’s not running away from the unfinished conversation. He keeps it simple though Akaashi admonishes it for sounding extremely cold to the older man, Tsukishima argues that he was just being courteous.

_Hope you have a safe flight._

_Let me know when you get back._

Kuroo does manage to text back.

_Thank you._

Akaashi reads his reply over Tsukishima’s shoulder, wrinkling his nose but doesn’t comment, though the follow up makes him snort and Tsukishima choke on his drink.

_See you soon, baby._

Tsukishima feels like a week is too long to mull things over, but this talk involved money and where it would go. He didn’t want to take things in stride and dive into these sort of things headfirst and risk getting hurt. As much as he hates to admit it, he trusted Kuroo. 

Kuroo had certainly earned it the past few months of talking with him. He was curt, polite and proper, had a wicked sense of humour that matched Tsukishima’s.

He was the trifecta of what Tsukishima looked for in a person, but it felt like he was taking advantage of Kuroo’s kindness and generosity by letting him pay for his education, and in exchange for what, a few hours of companionship?

Tsukishima doesn’t think it’s a fair trade at all. He’d get a better pay off with a pet cat, he follows up bitterly. Akaashi begs to differ, yet again, lounging on the sofa as he lays on the floor with a crisis on his hands.

“Kei, for us people bound to get stuck on a desk job, or are already stuck to a desk job, it’s incredibly boring,” His best friend reasons out, “Cats are probably wonderful companions, but you can’t exactly take a one to the cinema and dissect movies as Kuroo-san does with you.”

“I doubt Kuroo-san can bring a cat to a Michelin star restaurant to introduce his favourite dishes to,” He reaches out to unscrew the cap of the wine bottle on the coffee table and chugs from the source. 

  
  


“You and I know it’s lonely to be attached to your career. That is why I think he needs companionship,” Akaashi waves the half-empty bottle in the air. “Someone to treat to a wine and dine, maybe even a sixty-nine.”

“Is that what you and Bokuto-san do?”

“And more.” Akaashi raises a thick eyebrow at him, a challenge shining in his eyes as he looks at Tsukishima at the floor, before passing the bottle to him. Tsukishima makes a face, but drinks nonetheless.

The thought of Kuroo between his legs does leave him all too hot under the collar, those bright eyes looking down at him with unconcealed and palpable want that makes Tsukishima want to submit to his baser needs and be good for him, desperate to hear the deep rumble of ‘ _baby’_ rolling off of Kuroo’s tongue.

“You thought about it, didn’t you? Are you excited to get railed until seven ways to Sunday when he gets back?” Akaashi asks, a drunken smirk on his face as he swings his legs in the air and unable to duck away from the nearest thing Tsukishima was able to fling at him, which is a balled-up pair of dirty socks that hits him square in the forehead. 

Tsukishima does end up accepting the offer after three full days of thinking about it, in the middle of Kuroo’s business trip. He texts a simple sentence to Kuroo’s in the middle of the night, stuffing his phone under his pillow before passing out. 

_I accept your offer._

The older man doesn’t reply to Tsukishima’s message, but Tsukishima sees the little read receipt at ten in the morning the following day. 

Kuroo does reach out to call him upon his arrival back in Tokyo a week later, after an early Saturday flight from Changi. Tsukishima nearly drops his phone into the sink full of water when he sees who was calling, muffling a cuss before setting it to loud-speaker on the counter. “ _Hello, Kei? Are you okay?_ ”

That was another development—he and Kuroo were now on a first-name basis too. Just bulldozing through relationship milestones now, huh, Tsukishima thinks lamely.

“I’m in the middle of washing dishes, sorry. I almost dropped a glass.” Tsukishima winces at the white lie he tells Kuroo, but he consoles himself by promising his full honesty once they get the chance to talk about their soon changing relationship dynamic.

“ _I was just calling to say that I’m back in Tokyo now, and I wanted to know if you’re available tonight._ ” Kuroo trails off, and Tsukishima immediately understands the purpose of this invitation without Kuroo mentioning it explicitly. 

After all, it’s been on his mind since the previous week. 

It’s safe to assume it’s occupied Kuroo’s mind as well.

“ _Do you want to come over to my place? So, we can have dinner, talk._ ” Kuroo trails off.

“Of course. What time should I come over?” Tsukishima tries valiantly to quash down the nerves over the conversation that would take place tonight. “ _I’ll send a driver for you around half past six, is that alright?”_

“That’s fine with me.” The younger one breathes out, nodding despite Kuroo being unable to see it. “ _Great_ ,” Kuroo almost whispers, before he clears his throat stiffly. “ _See you._ ”

—

Kuroo’s driver is silent throughout the entire trip, which Taukishima is thankful for. Never one for small talk to fill the air, Tsukishima fidgets in the backseat of a black Mercedes that he has never seen Kuroo use before, his right leg shaking during rush hour traffic.

Tsukishima gets out of the car appropriately fast when the car pulls over into the building driveway, mumbling thank yous to the driver as he gets out and is left standing on the curb. He isn’t subjected to the long security or identification any more checks at the front desk anymore, heading to the elevators with nothing more than a quick nod to the woman manning the desk.

It’s now or never, he guesses. 

The older man opens the door to him after two rings of the doorbell, smiling at Tsukishima as he welcomes him into the home before he’s crowding slightly into his space, gauging Tsukishima’s bewildered expression with an unreadable look on his face. “Hi.” Tsukishima breathes, unconsciously leaning towards Kuroo.

Cautiously, Kuroo puts his hands on Tsukishima’s waist, palms warm over the silky fabric of his dress shirt as he keeps watching Tsukishima, waiting for a reaction. Tsukishima is a touch shaken over the careful and measured touches, blushing under the intensity of Kuroo’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t shy away from it.

They were, after all, on uncharted territory now. 

“Hello, you smell nice.” Kuroo’s eyes look somewhat pleased, and Tsukishima tries not to preen at the subtle praise. He finally relented and used a handful of Kuroo’s gifts to show his willingness towards an arrangement, and he has to admit, it feels nice. 

Kuroo’s eyes soften before he’s leaning in closer and greeting Tsukishima with a short, yet deep kiss that makes his eyes flutter shut and let out a slow breath from his nose, the ball of tension in his belly unravelling. 

No word of a lie, he likes the development, adores the touches after months of skirting around each other.

He feels Kuroo’s palm slide down to his hips as he pulls away, not crowding into Tsukishima’s space anymore. “Was traffic bad?” 

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Tsukishima murmurs thoughtfully as he hands Kuroo his coat and removes his shoes by the door, falling back to a routine introduced to him a week ago as if a myriad of things hadn’t changed at all. 

Dinner goes well without a hitch—Kuroo did all the cooking from the appetizer, down to dessert, gauging Tuskishima’s reaction to everything nervously. 

Everything that is on the table is delicious, and Tsukishima manages to finish everything despite the unease of the talk that was about to come. He sips his wine with a dazed look in his eyes that Kuroo stops to observe him carefully when they move to the living room, sinking into the plush grey chairs across each other. “Are you alright?”

Tsukishima’s gaze shifts to Kuroo’s from the particularly interesting patch of the rug, and he nods, albeit slowly. “Just thinking.”

Kuroo’s posture shifts when those words leave Tsukishima’s mouth, swallowing a mouthful of scotch before scooting up the cushions. “I guess we do need to talk about that. Go ahead, ask me whatever you want to know.” He waits for Tsukishima to speak, who seems to have been fueled by liquid courage. 

“How will this work?” 

“To put it bluntly, I’m offering to be your sugar daddy, on top of being your boyfriend,” Kuroo states, clearly having thought about it. Tsukishima fidgets with his glass, dragging his fingers on the condensation. 

“What do you expect from me?” Tsukishima manages to say as he looks Kuroo in the eyes.

“Mostly this. A meal with me, texts, calls, dates,” Kuroo lists, “Someone to bring to a company event to ward off the eager matchmakers.” The sentence makes Tsukishima nod, lowering his eyes again to rack his brain for questions. 

“How about _certain_ things? Sex?” Tsukishima grits out, ears burning at the tips. “Do you expect that from me?”

“I would like it, provided, you want that as well, and you tell me properly.” Kuroo finishes his drink with the final mouthful before he’s setting it on the dark wood of the coffee table between them. He takes a deep breath before falling back onto the chair and clasping his hands on top of his crossed legs. 

“If you don’t want to have sex with me, then we’ll stick to what you’re comfortable with. I’m fine with that.”

The wine is sweet on his tongue as Tsukishima mulls Kuroo’s words over and over, caught in another staredown with the older man. Kuroo is as calm and composed, his voice and words measured when he answers every one of Tsukishima’s questions as clearly and as concisely as he can.

Tsukishima straightens up on his seat, not letting anything give him away. “What can I expect from you then?”

Kuroo cocks his head to the side when he smiles at Tsukishima, looking very much the man of wealth and power he had presented himself as. “Gifts, whenever I feel like getting you something. An allowance of whatever amount you desire, whenever you desire it. You’d also be free to ask anything else, and I’ll provide it, so long as it’s within reason.” 

“Nothing is set in stone, Kei. You’re free to change your mind at any time you want it to end, and if you change your mind about our arrangement, that’s alright too.” Kuroo offers, quirking his lips up in a smaller smile.

The silence that blankets them is palpable, and Tsukishima desperately wants to know if he’s the first to be propositioned like this, so he asks exactly that. “Am I the first you’ve offered to support? Are we exclusive?”

“Yes, to both of your questions. That’s one thing I also will expect from you, I’m afraid,” Kuroo trails off. “I’m not one for sharing.”

“What if you get bored of me?” Tsukishima rebuts, cocking an eyebrow at Kuroo haughtily. “Who’s to say you won’t find someone else more willing to provide what I might refuse to give you?” 

“My affections aren’t that fickle, Kei. Nobody has ever caught my eye as you have.” The heated finality of Kuroo’s tone makes Tsukishima mouth grow dry, nodding in place of responding to him verbally, glowing under the subtle compliment. “Is there anything I missed?”

“No, I think I’ve got it,” Tsukishima states, plain and simple. “I agree to the terms.” 

Kuroo’s smile doesn’t widen, nor does he glow in vindication, but he just gives Tsukishima a look that bleeds with how pleased he is over his choice. Tsukishima thinks— _knows_ —that the feeling is mutual. “They’re effective now, yes?”

Kuroo hums his confirmation, and the alcohol in Tsukishima’s system makes him a touch brazen. “I can get whatever I want?” He asks in a soft, contemplating tone, lowering his eyes to make him seem coy. 

“Whatever you ask.” Kuroo reiterates, uncrossing his legs when Tsukishima stands up to walk towards him.

The look of shock that crosses Kuroo’s face and breaks his immaculate composure sends a thrill of delight up Tsukishima’s spine when he digs his knees into the cushion on either side of the older male’s legs and settles comfortably on his lap. 

Kuroo’s does recover quickly, though, staring up at Tsukishima. “Is this a test?”

Tsukishima merely cocks his head to the side, a mirror image of the older man from a few minutes ago. He reaches up to place his hands on Kuroo’s nape, scooting closer to him. His fingers twitch on the armrests as he stands true to his word—nothing happens without Tsukishima’s explicit consent. “Maybe.” 

“You know I won’t do anything unless you ask me for it,” Kuroo murmurs when Tsukishima leans in closer to him, crowding further into his space that the spiced sugar of his perfume is prevalent in the air between them. 

“I know.” Tsukishima reaches beside him and grabs Kuroo’s wrist, splaying his fingers on the muscles of his thigh. “Maybe I want this.”

“ _Maybe_.” Kuroo counters flatly as Tsukishima makes sure to maintain eye contact with him when he drags Kuroo’s hands up his waist to rest on his chest. 

“You are going to be the death of me, baby.” The older groans out when he feels the peak of his nipple underneath his fingers through the thin silk of Tsukishima’s shirt. 

“You can touch.” Tsukishima whispers, subtly arching his back towards the hand on his chest. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“When we met, didn’t you ask me what things I liked?” Tsukishima asks, rubbing his fingers at Kuroo’s nape and the short strands of his hair. He straightens his back to tower over the older man, leaning much, much closer to him so that he can feel his breath fanning on his chest. 

“Well, wouldn’t you like to find out tonight?” He purrs, meeting the look of simmering want swimming in Kuroo’s eyes with his own. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Kuroo pulls himself back. Tsukishima, however, isn’t having any of it. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move on me for months. You wouldn’t have kissed me if I hadn’t asked. Thank you for being considerate of my feelings, but I want something else now.”

“You’re immediately enjoying all your liberties, I see.” 

“You’re the one that gave them to me.” Tsukishima leans in to steal a kiss from Kuroo, savouring the sharpness of the scotch on his tongue and moaning at the hand gripping his thigh firmly. “Besides, Don’t you want to know if I’m the type to beg for it,” Tsukishima asks, cupping Kuroo’s jaw to whisper in his ear. “ _Tetsurou?_ ”

Kuroo stares up at Tsukishima with a furrow between his thick eyebrows and with an unfathomable expression that Tsukishima immediately dives off into the deep end, thinking about how he’s ruined this with how fast he has pushed things around. 

The hand on his thigh travels up to settle on his waist, squeezing it once. “Get up,” Kuroo says gruffly, and Tsukishima readies himself for the worse when he climbs off of Kuroo’s lap, doing a double-take when he hears his next words. “Bedroom, now.”

If Tsukishima thought the kiss they shared in Kuroo’s guest bedroom was the best kiss of his life—he was sorely mistaken. 

The moment the door of Kuroo’s bedroom clicks shut, Kuroo presses him against the door and kisses him like a man starved for air, stealing air from his lungs, with hands roaming over his sides and his hips, and down to squeeze at his ass. 

Kuroo’s mouth is hot on Tsukishima, and the way his teeth nip at Tsukishima’s bottom lip to snake his tongue into his mouth is enough to make the younger weak in the knees, wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s neck so as to not sink into the carpet. 

“Is this okay?” Kuroo pulls away to ask, ever _the gentleman,_ but he keeps their faces close. Tsukishima gives him a sharp nod while he catches his breath, lungs heaving in his chest as if he ran a marathon. “Feel free to push me away if you change your mind, alright?”

The quick, curling, palpable arousal was present in the room, so thick Tsukishima can taste it in the air, settling into the pit of his belly when Kuroo picks him up by his thighs and deposits him onto the bed. 

It's a feat that Tsukishima musters the coordination to make a move to unbutton his shirt while Kuroo’s lips descend on his again, licking into his mouth and sucking so hard on his tongue that he lets out a high-pitched keen from deep in his throat. 

Kuroo quickly settles between his thighs, aiding him in popping off the buttons off his shirt before flinging it to the floor, moving down to unbutton his jeans and tug them off Tsukishima’s mile-long legs. 

The sound of appreciation he makes when he finally sees the expanse of pale, lily-soft skin and the sensuous line of Tsukishima’s muscles transcends every heated thought the blond has ever had about Kuroo, leaning into his touch when he drags his fingers from the muscles of his thigh, tracing a finger between the line of Tsukishima’s abs to squeeze the dip of his waist. 

He lets out a sharp gasp when Kuroo rubs at one of his nipples, the calloused skin of his thumb rubbing on his chest repeatedly. “Sensitive here, aren’t you, baby?” Kuroo’s voice is scratchy with want, enthralled by the soft noises Tsukishima tries to conceal between kiss-swollen lips. 

“I thought that much was obvious.” Tsukishima breathes out, arching into Kuroo’s touch when he twists the nub gently between his fingers, writhing under the testing flicks. Tsukishima himself doesn’t understand how he’s still able to speak proper sentences when he frantically pulling at Kuroo’s face to kiss him wetly, clenching his eyes and breathing softly against his mouth when he feels both nipples being played with, juxtaposing between soft and firm caresses.

Tsukishima rids himself of the lopsided frame of his glasses still perched on his nose, managing to toss it on the nightstand. “I cleaned up really well before I got here.” He confesses, looking at Kuroo through the haze of desperation in his eyes, watching as Kuroo’s throat bobs when he swallows. “Did you now? Fuck,” Tsukishima hears Kuroo groan against his neck, before straightening up to strip his shirt off and away. “You come prepared, huh, Moonshine.”

Tsukishima marvels at the newly exposed expanse of tanned skin in front of him, smiling something devious at the older man when he grinds his hips up against Kuroo’s crotch. “If you play your cards right, you can make me come easily too.” 

Kuroo’s face grows flat at the change, jaw tensing and amber eyes flashing with something wild as he looks down at Tsukishima. His chest rattles with a shaky breath when he runs his hands up the length of Tsukishima’s thigh, long fingers splayed over the muscle for an appreciative squeeze before they go high, thumbing the hem of Tsukishima’s boxers, asking for permission. 

Wordlessly, Tsukishima lifts his hips off the bed to help Kuroo tug his underwear off, hissing at the small bit of friction to his cock. “You know, I forgot to buy you something from my trip,” Kuroo says against his skin, kissing down his chest and quickly laving at a nipple. “But let me make it up to you” He pushes Tsukishima’s thighs to his chest, marvelling at the younger’s flexibility before ducking his head and licking between his legs, Tsukishima’s surprised moan bouncing off the walls. 

“Oh _fuck—_ Tetsurou!” Tsukishima _shouts_ , lifting his hips to chase after the older’s tongue. To say he’s incredibly turned on right now is an understatement, his cock is leaking an exorbitant amount of precome on his belly, shaking with the need to be touched, reaching out to tangle his hands into the strands of Kuroo’s hair in an attempt to grind himself down when the older moans, the vibrations travelling up his spine. 

“You’re beautiful, Moonshine,” Kuroo moans out, deep and guttural, against the skin of his inner thigh before sucking it hard enough to bruise. Tsukishima can’t decide which one endearment he likes more tumbling out of Kuroo’s lips when he’s drunk off of Tsukishima’s eager reactions. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“Please,” Tsukishima begs, out of his mind and delirious with want, pushing his hips up to Kuroo’s face. “Use your words, baby. We talked about this.” Comes the warning, but Kuroo does humour him with a tug on his cock that makes his thighs shake around Kuroo’s head. 

“Keep doing that,” Tsukishima whines out, his irises blown out under the dim light of the bedroom, all rosy skin and tightly coiled muscles when he begs before Kuroo. “Keep eating me out, fuck me, anything please.” He shivers under the scrutiny of Kuroo’s heated gaze and the firm grip keeping his thighs open, leaving him exposed for the older man’s viewing pleasure. 

Tsukishima thinks he must look so _lewd_ like that, bent almost in half, cock hard and leaking on his belly, thighs spread out and wanting, body flushed and shaking in need. 

“Look at me, Moonshine.” Kuroo’s face is dark, the ice-cold composure back in place when he lowers himself on the bed again, before a kiss is pressed to the crook of Tsukishima’s knee. “You’ve been so good, baby, anything for you.” 

Tsukishima vaguely remembers coming twice that night; babbling nonsense from the curling licks into his walls and the thick fingers stretching him out, slick as they twist and prod firmly into the spot that makes him lose all the air in his lungs, any sort proper thought leaving his head over the overtly, wet and borderline obscene sounds of Kuroo’s mouth and tongue on his hole, whimpering butchered versions of Kuroo’s name and a mantra of _please—fuck—there—Tetsu, please_ pouring from his lips that Kuroo answers with a pleased groan of his own. 

Tsukishima feels himself scream when the tightly wound cord in his belly snaps without control and the grip he has on Kuroo’s hair becomes almost overbearingly painful as he rides his release. He meets Kuroo’s eyes from the valley of his splayed legs as he keeps licking, twisting his fingers against his sweet spot until Tsukishima all but shoves him weakly in overstimulation. 

The second one is when Kuroo fully strips naked, rolling protection and applying lube over himself despite Tsukishima’s pleasure addled mumbles to come inside. He’s apologetic, kissing Tsukishima on the lobe of his ear to say _after we get tested, baby, I promise. I’ll fuck you until you’re dripping with me._ Kuroo murmurs, dragging his teeth sharply on his lobe, Tsukishima forgetting how to breathe when Kuroo finally, _finally_ pushes into him, positively _whimpering_ when he feels Kuroo fill him up perfectly.

He’s the perfect mix of rough and gentle that can make Tsukishima lose what’s left his mind in mere second, until he’s left shaking and speaking in tongues into the mattress, too fucked out to control his noises and the tears running down into his sweat matted hair when Kuroo thrusts and grinds into his overworked prostate.

Tsukishima vaguely hears Kuroo’s pleased grunts in his ear over his loud, gasping moans and keens, shivering under all the gritted filth and praise being said to him as he watches Kuroo fucks him harder into the mattress, gripping hard onto the headboard for leverage. “You’re incredible, baby, come for me. Come for me, Kei.”

Tsukishima almost panics at the sharp jolt of pleasure when Kuroo wraps a hand around his neglected cock, a surprised drawn-out moan coming from his chest when his jaw drops and when he feels himself come, Kuroo cursing at the clenching of his walls, driving his hips hard enough to push Tsukishima a few inches up on the bed before he drops his head to groan, his voice tapering off with a deep moan as he pants on the sweaty skin of the younger’s chest. 

When Tsukishima feels one of his sore nipples being enveloped in the wet heat of Kuroo’s mouth, it makes him grit his teeth from the oversensitivity, pushing at a tanned shoulder and shaking his head into the pillow. _Too much, please._

Kuroo leans up to kiss him again, soft and chaste and all too reminiscent of their first kiss in the other room, all affection without the heat to distract him from the older man pulling out and his warmth parting from him. _You’ve been so good for me, Moonshine, let me take care of you._

Aftercare with Kuroo is a delight. The hypersensitivity makes him feel like the washcloth gently dragging against his skin is much too cold, much too rough, but the endless amount of praise spilling from Kuroo’s lips is enough to warm him up until Kuroo slips into the bed beside him the covers are being drawn over his naked body.

Needless to say, Tsukishima passes out against the pillows, sinking into the thick, warm sheets, feeling too content with the bone-deep satisfaction and the body lying behind him. 

When Kuroo’s arm snakes around his waist to pull him close, tucking Tsukishima under his chin, Tsukishima feels like he’s made a great choice. 

—

Tsukishima feels like a year and a half had gone by rather quickly after he had gone back home to his apartment, his blond hair still dripping at the ends when he falls back onto the couch, shooting a quick text to the older man before Akaashi opens his bedroom door.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Akaashi greets, leaning down to hug him. “You look like you had fun.” His smile is sharp and all-knowing, and Tsukishima raises his hand to pat him on the cheek. “How was your reunion?”

“Fun. Got railed through the weekend.” Tsukishima says nonchalantly while Akaashi laughs behind him. “As expected.” Akaashi replies, before he’s squeezing Tsukishima tight in his arms. “I heard your candidacy for graduation was approved, congrats, Kei. ” He kisses Tsukishima on the cheek, ruffling his hair fondly.

“Thank you, Akaashi-san. Congratulations to you and Udai-sensei for getting the green light for a new series.”

“I love my job, but sometimes I just want to pass out on the beach with a fruity drink in my hand.” Akaashi pops a bottle of beer open from their fridge, the loud sound catching the younger by surprise. “But now, we gotta settle for Asahi. Any plans for a graduation trip?” 

Tsukishima raises his shoulders wordlessly.

“Huh,” Akaashi remarks after he takes a swig of his beer, leaning a hip on the counter. “Really.”

“I don’t really have a specific location in mind, plus, I have work, ” Tsukishima’s phone rings with a notification from Kuroo, swiping at it to open. “He has much more important things to deal with.”

_Hey, Moonshine._

_How do you feel about red?_

_???_

_The colour?_

_Is there a kink I should be made aware of?_

_Yes! The colour!_

_I’m a simple man, Kei._

_You know what I like._

_I know that, but people change._

_Do you like it or not_

_Yes, I like red._

_Can I know what this about?_

_Just trust me, baby._

_Well, what’s another bad decision after another I guess._

_You’ll like this, I promise._

“Is that a code for a sex thing?” Akaashi asks, chin perched over Tsukishima’s shoulder as he reads their conversation. He peeks at Tsukishima, who is still trying to read between the lines, but ultimately coming up empty-handed. “I’m not exactly sure.”

“So you have a code for sex.”

“Yes,” Tsukishima drawls, staring up at his phone. “ _Let’s have sex._ Don’t need to overcomplicate it.”

“That’s true, I guess.” Tsukishima stares at Akaashi for a good five seconds, studying his features before he breaks out into a grimace. “Don’t play coy, you and Bokuto-san have a look. I’ve seen it before.”

Akaashi gives him the very _look_ that Tsukishima was referring to; chin tipped down, peering up at Tsukishima through half-lidded eyes. His bright blue gaze trails up the length of the younger’s body, slow and sticky sweet like molasses, before they flick up to meet honey gold eyes. 

He blinks once, thick, dark lashes fluttering against tanned skin. Tsukishima flushes at the playful invitation in his gaze, watching his slender fingers brush through his curls and the amused curve of his lips. 

Truly, Bokuto never really stood a chance.

Then, it disappears, fading when Akaashi smiles at him all too pleasantly, eyes curled into crescents. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

—

The whole fiasco over the colour red comes to an end after another two months later when Tsukishima finds himself in Kuroo’s bathroom, soaking in an absurdly sized tub with lavender-scented steam wafting into the air. Kuroo is standing by the sink in a robe with shaving cream slathered over his upper lip and jaw, going over the skin with a razor.

It’s jarringly domestic, Tsukishima admits, resting his ankles on the rim of the tub, feeling like a million-dollar trophy wife with how he actually _fits_ in the tub with room to spare.

“Where are we heading later?” Tsukishima asks, sinking into the tub until the water is lapping at his jaw. “The InterContinental by the Bay,”Kuroo explains, washing his face free of the shaving cream and patting his face dry with a towel. 

“To celebrate the completion of the project. We already had a separate celebration in Dubai, but Bokuto _insisted_ that we have one here as well, so I’m assuming I’ll be seeing Akaashi there later. How is he, by the way?”

“Peering over his boss’s shoulder again,” Tsukishima replies to him. “Udai-sensei insisted on getting him as his Editor again, Akaashi-san agreed, having already known what pushes him through those deadlines.” Kuroo hums out a reply as he finishes with his routine, applying pomade to his hair. “Bokuto once told me that Akaashi got drunk and threatened to egg my office, do you know anything about that?”

Tsukishima remembers the conversation from a year ago very clearly, but he chooses to cock his head in confusion, a guileless smile directed at Kuroo. “Not the slightest idea.” 

“Sure, you don’t.”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Kuroo-san.” Tsukishima provides, appropriately apologetic as he stares up at the older man. 

“Alright, I’ll leave you to get ready, I also have a surprise laid out on the bed for you.” He says, walking towards Tsukishima and leaning in to kiss him on the lips briefly. 

“Is that a euphemism and I’ll just find you naked in bed?” Tsukishima asks, grinning at Kuroo. The lights in the bathroom catch against something, and Tsukishima looks for the source until he's staring at a thin golden ring inlaid with rubies and diamonds dangling from a delicate chain off Kuroo’s neck. 

Huh.

Weird. 

Save for a watch, Kuroo rarely wore jewellery. 

“That was my original idea,” Kuroo winks at him. “But Daichi will have my head, so that’s a no go. Finish up, we have to get there by eight.”

Tsukishima relents, washing himself up and going through the nines with his now normal routine, wrestling with the fancy hairdryer he never got the hang of to style his hair and returning into the bedroom where he sees a dust bag with the insignia of a French brand imprinted on it, and a black, unassuming, jewellery box beside it, a pair of boots set by the floor-length mirror.

From his experience, most unlabelled boxes contained bespoke items when it came to Kuroo. 

He pries it open, only to gape at its contents. 

It’s a complete match to the one Kuroo was wearing on a chain back in the bathroom, the brilliant stone bright and shockingly red under the light. The suit and shoes are a perfect fit—as expected, Kuroo always delivers even with the smallest details. 

Kuroo’s making some last-minute calls in the living room, and his handsome face splits into a smile when he sees Tsukishima by the hall, looking absolutely phenomenal in head to toe Saint Laurent. “Alright, we’re just about to leave.” He says to whomever he’s talking to before ending the call. 

“You look gorgeous,” Kuroo says, almost breathless when Tsukishima comes closer to him. He can’t seem to resist, holding Tsukishima by the waist and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek swiftly. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

Kuroo looks mouthwatering, if Tsukishima was being perfectly honest, dressed in a navy blue, pinstripe three-piece suit, with a ruby red tie on his chest in a perfect Windsor knot, though a touch lopsided.

When Tsukishima reaches over to straighten his tie, Kuroo’s eyes flicker towards the ring on the younger’s right finger, and Tsukishima sees his eyes grow soft and fond at the sight of it. “Does it fit okay?”

“Hmm?”

“The ring.”

“Too well. How did you even get the measurements for it?”

Kuroo fusses with Tsukishima’s hair a little bit, twirling his index finger around a stubborn curl near Tsukishima’s temple. “You’re a deep sleeper, wasn’t that hard to get a measuring tape ‘round your finger. You like it?”

“I do,” Tsukishima plants a kiss an inch away from his lips, smiling softly. “Thank you for the gift, Kuroo-san.” 

“You’re welcome, Moonshine.” Kuroo looks like the cat who got the cream, either it’s from the success of the company or some sort of personal victory that he doesn’t tell Tsukishima, but no matter, it’s a good look on Kuroo, the younger thinks, but he may just be a touch biased. 

Tsukishima spares one last look at the matching ring hanging off a chain around Kuroo’s neck when they slip their coats on, the jewels much more brilliant against the satin of Kuroo’s necktie. Kuroo offers him his arm, smiling up at him. “Shall we?” 

The younger man sniffs at the sight, but takes the arm nonetheless, walking towards the doors of the building and getting into the sleek Mercedes, hiding his smile behind the hand braced on the window when Kuroo reaches out to intertwine their fingers together in the darkness of the car.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers:
> 
> 1\. This is an old work rewritten for Krtsk. The first work was originally written for the exo ficdom, and can be seen in my works.
> 
> 2\. There is an age gap between the main and secondary characters of this fic, and has been tagged as such. That being said, all characters were all of legal age in this story. Bokuto and Akaashi started their relationship when the former was 28, and the latter being 20. Kuroo and Tsukishima entered into their weird courting stage a year after BokuAka did, making Kuroo 29 and 20. 
> 
> In the present timeline of the fic, Bokuto and Kuroo are 30, while Akaashi and Tsukishima are 22 and 21 respectively. I hope that clears up any lingering questions or concerns. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved (re)writting it! I tried my best with the banter, but alas, I am barely as witty at Kuroo and as snarky as Tsukki.
> 
> Come yell by my bird app: @_iwaizumeme


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